


May & December

by tommysmutnothingbut



Series: May & December [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Dom! Tommy, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:59:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17277515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommysmutnothingbut/pseuds/tommysmutnothingbut
Summary: Older Tommy x younger reader, many sexually tense gazes at the object of your affection, Dads being Dads, corruption, lil bit o’ fluff, independence so close you can taste it, wanting to taste more than independence amirite, promises of sinful filth to come.





	1. Part I

For your eighteenth birthday your father had gotten you a job. He’d beamed with pride and slid a business card over to you at your birthday dinner - Thomas Shelby of Shelby Company Limited. Your confused gaze was met with a giddy smile from your father - thrilled with both the gift itself and how clever he felt in its delivery.

Birthdays were never something that you particularly enjoyed, an ambivalent feeling in your old soul that you’d done it all before, feeling out of place within the young years you were celebrating. But eighteen was special, you had to admit, and so nothing but a business card over cake had been mildly disappointing for a few moments. However butterflies soon bloomed in your stomach when you realized it was in fact a ticket - a ticket out of your parents house and a key to independence, escaping from your younger siblings, sharing a bedroom, and being home by seven. So by the time you took your father’s hand and thanked him, the shine in your eyes had been enthusiastically genuine.

Tommy was a friend of your father’s from the war, forever bonded by the hell of the trenches. You’d met him once, a long time ago, before he had begun the Shelby’s infamous climb up the ladder. You remembered nothing but being small, holding your father’s hand and staring at the shine on Tommy’s shoes, thinking that they didn’t belong in Small Heath. Apparently Tommy had felt the same, enough stories having since given you a healthy fear of his name and in turn your father’s gift; the lawlessness of the Shelby’s and Tommy’s well-known iron fist weren’t things you had ever thought you’d cross directly. You didn’t know what to expect, but your father dismissed your nervousness with confidence, reiterating that Tommy was a family friend and the job would be yours.

Nevertheless the thick cream business card had shook in your gloved hands as you walked to the address upon it less than a week later, your best heels and hat doing nothing to soothe you. A bored-looking woman pointed you to a bench and stated Mr. Shelby would soon return from his meeting before she had left you alone in the office to wait. The empty desk that you assumed would be yours - if you were lucky enough to survive - loomed across from you, threatening and welcoming all at once with its heavy oaken legs.

But you were surprised at how quickly your nerves had calmed themselves when Tommy finally returned, shaking your hand and looking far less formidable than you’d imagined. Regardless of how often you’d heard about the Shelby’s good looks his handsomeness still surprised you, a softly dangerous face that didn’t look a day over thirty even though he was nearly forty-five. He remembered you, also to your surprise, and made you laugh with a story about your father before you’d even sat down before his desk, doing his best to put you at ease. But the power that ran beneath his skin had been unmissable from the start, a dominance of the world that you could tell didn’t come from his business assets; it was a devil-given gene, something he had possessed long before he’d used it to carve his path to wealth and success. 

After glazing over the details of himself and his work, reserved and humble, Tommy had asked about you. Normally shy, Tommy had somehow managed to burn your hesitation to ash, and later you would cringe at your talkativeness. It was easy, talking to Tommy, and your interview quickly became far more of a conversation than any kind of opportunity to prove your merit to him. You’d stayed for nearly two hours, Tommy waving out his current secretary more than once to prevent interruption, her huffs growing louder with annoyance each time.

Tommy had watched you intently, his jarringly light eyes focused and unwavering as you had babbled on about your life, your siblings, what it was like to feel more responsible and mature than anyone in your family - including your parents. He’d laughed at that, a sound that you would have paid a year’s salary just to hear again, and had agreed in few but enough words to let you know it was a feeling you shared.

By the time you’d left Tommy had given you the job, an insistence that you call him Tommy, and a burning on your knuckles from where he had pressed his lips in goodbye, a burning that had snaked its way down your spine and hadn’t stopped searing you since.

Six months had passed since your unconventional job interview, and you were finally beginning to feel comfortable with your tasks and duties, having settled in so efficiently that Tommy had let his other secretary go completely.

As a boss, Tommy was kind to you even on his bad days, but to say he wasn’t intimidating would have been far from the truth. Heavy years had piled on his broad shoulders and he had grown accustomed to carrying them in answer, making him a man carved out of stone and a force not to be reckoned with. You’d quickly met the side that Tommy hadn’t shown you in your first meeting, and the days that man made an appearance were definitely not some of your favorites. But Tommy was never harsh with you, and if he ever came close to it, irritation sometimes flashing behind his eyes at news of a client’s woes or a question from you he had no desire to answer, he would merely stalk into his office and shut the door, keeping himself away from you.

But as of late he seemed to want to do just the opposite, calling you in to sit with him, announcing late work nights where the two of you would settle in his office and silently go through piles of paperwork. The working was not often what went late, but the talking was. When you were done Tommy would pour you a drink, coming out from behind his desk to sit with you by the fire.

To deny that you were smitten was a battle, and it was quickly becoming one that you were losing. The last thing you wanted to be was a silly girl, lusting after a man you couldn’t have, flighty and young, not knowing what was good for you. But the more time you spent with Tommy the less silly you felt, growing surer by the day that his gazes weren’t exactly innocent either, that his eyes quickly taking in your figure weren’t doing so on accident, that his questions about your romantic life were less about curiosity and more about seeking, needing to know, forever wanting the answer to be that you were unattached.

As time went on you decided that if you ever figured out how to summon up the bravery to convey your feelings to Tommy, you would. You knew he saw your wandering eyes and picked up on the tone of your own questions, his full lips always quirking in amusement before he wiped his face blank, both of you carrying on and keeping your words to yourselves. In any moment you could spare you found yourself admiring the way his expensive suits cut around his frame; the silver gradient through the dark hair of his temples made his eyes that much more vivid in color behind the glinting frames of his glasses; the smoothly sharp bones of his face never failed to tell the story of how Lucifer was once an angel, God’s favorite before he tumbled in a burst of flame.

But stepping foot onto that path felt forbidden, easier said than done, and so you simply continued to set Tommy’s morning papers on his desk in the order he liked as you always did, punctuated with a, “Here you go, Sir.”

It was soon your favorite part of the day, the look that subtly etched its way onto Tommy’s face at the sound of your formal greeting - the only one he never once had corrected your use of - was one that made you feel less alone in your longing, as if perhaps it wasn’t the imagination of a silly girl after all, Tommy’s thanks sometimes catching in his throat.

********************

“So,” Tommy asked one morning, lighting a cigarette after you had finished going over his diary for the day, blatantly ignoring your question about his appointment with a Duke of some town you’d never heard of. “Are you coming tonight?”

“I’m surprised you’re even going,” you teased, “didn’t think you to be a fan of birthday parties. Forty-five though, quite a milestone.”

“Don’t,” Tommy warned, voice low even with the gleam of amusement in the squint he shot in your direction. “And no, I do not enjoy parties, especially not mine.”

“Thought not,” you smiled at his grumbling, absentmindedly flipping through the papers he’d given you to go into the morning’s post. “So why go?”

Tommy hummed, inhaling his cigarette slowly and nodding, musing on your question that he apparently didn’t plan on answering, “Are you coming?”

The tone of his reiteration made you look up from under your lashes to find Tommy watching you expectantly.

“Do you want me to come?” you asked quietly, unable to stop the loaded curiosity from snaking its way into your voice.

“I think you’d have fun.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Raising his brows at you, Tommy blinked at you slowly before he smiled slightly. “Suppose you’re right. Yes, I want you to come.”

“Okay,” you said softly, his unwavering stare holding your own in place. “Then I’ll come.”

Tommy said nothing, the only sounds filling the room being passing cars outside and the cracklings of the logs on the fire. Your lips parted in the heavy silence and Tommy’s eyes undeniably followed their movement, the sight of it calling a steady throbbing to begin between your thighs. Crossing your legs to stifle the unfamiliar feeling of it, the sudden manifestation of your desire unwelcome at this current moment, you shifted in your chair. Nothing less than a smirk flashed across Tommy’s face and you could feel that he knew, his own lips parting to speak before the phone distantly rang somewhere behind you.

It rang thrice before your brain ordered you to stand, forcing you through the movements of normalcy that you wouldn’t have been able to accomplish without its sense. You said nothing as you left his office, glancing back at him as you always did before you shut his door, your breath catching when you found his eyes not on his papers as they usually were, but still on you, looking like he’d sooner pull the phones from the wall than have you leave; it was a look you’d never be able to pretend your way out of unseeing, a look desirous enough to burn the building to the ground.

*************************

The Garrison was full of people, both the people and the pub gilded and plush and booming, jazz music competing over the noise of the increasingly drunk crowd. There were few faces you didn’t recognize, most of the Blinders and Shelby’s having been through the office at one point or another. You liked Tommy’s family, different than your own. Closely bound and boisterous, welcoming and warm, loud with jokes and stories at the table you all occupied.

Sipping your gin you fell into a daze, your eyes glazing upon a scuff on the Garrison’s otherwise polished floor. Today had left you more wanting than any other, Tommy’s look of desire still branded into your mind. The closest you’d ever come to speaking your feelings into the air had driven you both to avoid each other for most of the day, Tommy having emerged from his office only as the sun had begun to drop.

But you could feel Tommy’s eyes on your face, jacketless and handsome where he sat across from you, shattering your daydream when he pressed his clothed knee to yours beneath the table. Ignoring the people around you, not that they were paying attention anyway, you didn’t move your knee away, a sudden wave of bravery holding your warm knee to his until your father came over with more drinks at which Tommy shifted away from you, graciously accepting another whiskey. Falling back into your haze of desire, you tried to keep your head from the clouds, wondering if this was just a blissful dream you’d wake up from.

“Would you like to join us?” Tommy asked a few minutes later, and it took you a moment to realize he was talking to you, Tommy continuing with a smirk when he realized you hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, “Your father and I, lunch tomorrow.”

“Oh no, thank you,” you smiled politely, your lips flush to the rim of your glass. You didn’t know if you could survive a lunch with both your father and Tommy, and blessedly you had an excuse. “I’m actually going to see a flat that’s for rent on my lunch hour tomorrow.”

“How nice!” Ada chimed in, awkwardly clashing with a simultaneous guffaw from your father.

“What flat?” he asked, looking at you with scrunched brows.

“I was going to tell you at dinner tonight,” you explained with a smile, “but now’s as good as ever, I suppose. I found a few affordable flats around Birmingham that are up for rent; thanks to your birthday gift I can afford to move out, Dad, about time wouldn’t you say?

Tommy raised his drink to you and winked, but your father missed the sentiment.

“I certainly would not say,” he huffed, turning to look at you with his face growing redder. “What on earth made you think I would allow such a thing?

After you wiped the pained surprise from your face you swallowed and looked around the table, thankful that everyone was suddenly pretending not to listen. Except for Tommy of course, who was watching you intently and making you desperately wish he wasn’t.

“I’m eighteen years old,” you whispered, embarrassment heating your face but resolve holding you steady, “and you know I’m more mature and wiser than most-”

“Ha!” your Father snorted and loudly rebuked you, “Says you, perhaps. I think not. We will not discuss this any further, there’s a party going on and I’m sure Mr. Shelby cares very little about your silly attempts at being an adult.”

Without announcement or warning, your tears burned hot and spilled onto your perfectly rouged cheeks, and as soon as you could shake the shock from your muscles you stood and stormed from the table without a word, carrying yourself as fast as your heels could take you. The closest door led to the Garrison’s empty back room, and you made your way to the back corner before leaning on a crate, the rough wooden edge snagging your dress slightly and pressing into your thighs.

“Fuck,” you said quietly, putting your face in your hands and crying, letting the tears drop to the floor. Your father was a fool, you knew, but he was still your father, and as you cried in the slat of moonlight coming through the window you began to ask yourself if he was right.

The storeroom door swung open to interrupt you, and you spun around to see - much to your humiliated dismay - Tommy’s tall frame filling the doorway, looking one way and then the other before his concerned gaze found you in the corner.

Making his way to you, Tommy didn’t hesitate to pull you close and hold you to his chest, hushing your protests and smoothing your hair back from your face with one broad hand.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, your tears only speeding at the sound of his voice, “he’s gone.”

“He is?” you cracked, pulling back so you could look at Tommy, still unsure of what he thought or what’d he say.

“He was asked to leave.”

Understanding halted your emotion and you looked at Tommy in shock, “What?”

Tommy took your face in his hands, his eyes flicking across your face with raised brows, pressing the importance of his point. “No one speaks to you like that. Not in front of me.”

“God I’m sorry,” you sputtered, struggling to imagine the semantics of the conversation, unable to picture Tommy doing such a thing for you. “I feel like I ruined this entire bloody party.”

“Please,” Tommy scoffed, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs. “Birthday isn’t even until next week anyway and I won’t care about it then, either. What I care about is you, alright? You.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, half stalling and half lying, knowing exactly what he meant.

“I know you’re young, alright?” he began, taking a step closer and lowering his face to yours, his eye contact unwavering and intimidating but you refused to look away. “But I want you to understand that I don’t care. I get what I want, eh? And that’s you.”

You opened your lips to interrupt but Tommy shook his head, “I don’t want you to worry about your fuckin’ dad, about anything, alright? I want you. You know I do.”

Tommy stepped ever closer to you, your chests brushing. You had thought of this more times than you could count, but now it was blissfully real, your hands tracing the top of Tommy’s vest without fear, like they belonged there.

“I want you, too.”

“I know,” Tommy smirked, and you pushed at his chest playfully until he took your hands in his, placing them on his shoulders before stroking your cheek, watching you. “Come home with me.”

The reality of it all crashed into you and you gripped Tommy’s vest in what you hoped was a subtle manner, feeling your youth as uncertainty and fear gripped you hard. A thousand whispers reminded you of who you were and who you were not, your inexperience, things that you didn’t know if Tommy would still want when you told him.

“Tommy,” you began, your voice wavering and still thick with retreating tears, “I’m not - I’ve never…I don’t know if I’m what you want.”

“Oh I know you haven’t, love,” Tommy squinted down at you, easily stopping your hands from smacking his chest and gripping your wrists. “Easy now, not a bad thing, eh? And I don’t care. All I care about is if this is what you want, alright?”

“It is,” you whispered once you’d calmed slightly, your lips a breath from his.

“Good,” Tommy said, sliding his hands to the small of your back, holding you to him. “Then let me take care of you.”

Nodding, you let him press his lips to yours, better than you’d imagined. Tommy held you tight and slipped his tongue into your mouth, warm with whiskey, snaking his hand into your hair. Not your first kiss but definitely your best, you stayed that way with Tommy for a long time, the moon rising outside the window, the two of you parting only when both of your breaths grew heavy and hands began to wander, Tommy whispering hoarsely that it was time to go home.

Tommy’s house was beautiful and expansive, the ceilings high and the carpets deep, something gilded on every wall and on every surface. It both suited him and it didn’t; the grandness of the house held a power that was as intimidating as Tommy was, but the lofty walls and the priceless objects that adorned the room had a hollowness that wasn’t Tommy, at least not the Tommy you knew.

The Tommy you knew lit a cigarette and filled his crystal tumbler with whiskey after passing you one of your own, moving to the window to stare into the night while you looked around the drawing room, the silence between you warm and comfortable, soothing to you both.

“How long have you lived here?” You asked after a while, smiling at a picture of a little Charlie astride a pony.

“Ten years, more or less,” Tommy answered, shrugging his broad shoulders.

“It’s beautiful,” you said quietly, looking at the painted ceiling, angels and clouds out of place in the residence of Thomas Shelby.

Tommy snorted and downed his whiskey before refilling it. “It’s fuckin’ ridiculous.”

A laugh escaped you and didn’t try to stifle it, glad that he said it so you didn’t eventually have to. “Maybe a bit, yes.”

“But it is mine,” Tommy said matter of factly, looking satisfied in a distant way, his past far enough behind him that he had to remind himself of how far he’d come, muttering, “even if it is fuckin’ absurd.”

“Fair enough,” you replied, leaning against a desk with books piled upon it, some of them open, and you flicked through the pages absently.

Tommy turned from the window and looked at you in that way that he did, and you blushed nearly instantly, bringing a smirk to his lips.

“Oh, will you stop it,” you muttered, downing your whiskey just to look away from him, ignoring the heat that crawled over the rest of your body, quickly discovering that the whiskey only made it worse.

“No,” Tommy said lowly, smoke rolling from his mouth into his nose as he stubbed out his cigarette, the cold rings of his blue eyes not leaving your increasingly flushing face. “I think not.”

The simplicity and weight of his comment made you inhale sharply, having no idea what to do with yourself as Tommy came to stand before you, taking your empty tumbler and rolling it in his hand. “Another?”

You nodded, your mouth dry. Tommy went to refill your glass without a word, leaving you in a daze. As your confidence began to shrink it left a gaping void behind; every moment that passed made you feel stupider, younger, impossibly more inexperienced than you already were. Everything about Tommy was laced with knowledge, power, confidence. You felt like a wilting flower, waiting to be discovered and plucked, soon to be discarded due to your inadequacy. Leaning no longer sufficient, you pushed yourself up to sit upon the desk on shaky legs, crossing them and smoothing over the creases in your dress in hopes it would somehow smooth over the worries in your mind.

Tommy knew something was wrong immediately upon his return, cursedly intuitive, apparently even more so when it came to you. But he was calm, far calmer than you, chuckling as if he could read your mind. He handed you your whiskey and took off his glasses, setting them beside you and stepping close enough that you could smell the soap on his skin, see the near invisible flecks of grey in his eyes, your pounding heart slowing as he filled your senses. Not failing to notice your shaking hands, lashes brushing his cheekbones when he glanced down at the small grip you held around the crystal glass, Tommy dwarfed your hand in his own and raised the glass to your lips, tilting it enough for you to take a sip, watching you silently with soft eyes.

As if the sip he gave you had a power that any other wouldn’t have, your thoughts had calmed by the time Tommy dropped his hand away and set your glass beside you. Taking your face in his hands, Tommy looked down at you and sighed, flicking his icy gaze across your flushed face.

“I am not a man of many words,” he said, and you kept your smirk to yourself, “but I want you here, and I care for you. I want you to be mine, and I want to take care of you. Not just for tonight. Alright?”

Nodding slowly, some part of you still in awe of his admissions, you silently agreed, trusting him. Taking the comfort Tommy’s affirmations had settled upon you you reached for him, sliding your arms around his neck and clutching yourself to him. With a slow and lazy gaze, your eyes moved back and forth between Tommy’s eyes and lips, their gravities fighting for your attention.

Tommy made the choice for you, and with a confident touch he gripped your thighs, uncrossing your legs so he could stand between them. In his beautiful house with his expensive whiskey on both of your tongues Tommy kissed you, drinking you in deeply, swirling his tongue around yours and pulling you to the edge of the desk. Your hand found its way to the velvet of his hair, across the leather braces on his shoulders, squeezing the expensive linen that covered his biceps.

Tommy let his hands wander further than he had in the Garrison, running them up and down your sides, one of them trailing down the outside of your thigh and playing with the bottom of your dress. When Tommy reached the bend of your knee he mirrored his grip on your other leg, your arms automatically throwing themselves around his neck to balance yourself, Tommy lifting your legs around his waist.

As scared as you had been you suddenly couldn’t remember why, Tommy’s embrace and kisses something that you never wanted to end. Being afraid was something you weren’t sure if Tommy experienced, but you were sure he wasn’t at this moment. Ending your kiss only to move it to the soft skin of your neck, he snaked a hand into your hair as he nipped and sucked at your skin, your eyes shooting open at the feeling of it, new and raw and electric. You were soon gasping, and you felt Tommy smirk against you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered hoarsely, bringing his lips back to yours and sliding his hands to your thighs, parting them slowly.

“Why?” you managed, your words mostly breath and barely brushing his lips, eyelids fluttering. Your thumbs settled on Tommy’s cheeks, tracing the sharp curves of his cheekbones.

“Because I won’t unless you do.”

The weight of his words brought your lips back together and you looked up at him, Tommy’s hands sliding slowly up your thighs, still on your stockings but dragging your dress ever higher. You had a choice, but you knew what you wanted. Today had been the strangest day of your life, but if you knew anything, you knew you wanted nothing more than Tommy.

Tommy’s fingers were waiting for you, dancing along and beneath the tops of your stockings, tracing the garters that went higher still.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered.

With a small twitch of his lips Tommy barely smiled before pressing his mouth to yours, open and hot. Whiskey and tobacco swirled into your mouth and you groaned, but you quickly realized your groan was pulled from you by Tommy’s touch just as much as his taste.

The calloused tips of Tommy’s fingers traced patterns into your skin, the first touch to have ever been there besides your own. You’d never felt anything like it, his deft hands hitting spots of skin that brought gasps to your lips and drew chills up your spine.

But when he reached the dampening silk of your underwear you froze, damning yourself for your innocence, a pleasure you didn’t understand burning beneath your skin.

Tommy halted, drawing away and searching your face. “Stop?”

“No,” you tried to explain, voice breathy, “I don’t want you to stop I’ve just never, no one has ever-”

“I don’t care if you’re a virgin, love, I know that. We don’t have to-”

“No,” you interrupted, “I know, it’s not that, it’s - I’ve never…you know, I don’t know.”

Tommy straightened with brows furrowed, bringing his hands gently to your upper arms. “Not even-“ clearing his throat awkwardly, and waving around boyishly, struggling to articulate just as much as you, “you’ve never - ”

“Not once,” you sputtered, flapping your hands, “I’ve always shared a room with my sister, and I’m always so busy that I just fall asleep-” you put your face in your hands, wanting to disappear, envisioning all of Tommy’s adoration fizzling. “When I said I’ve done nothing, I meant it, Tommy. Nothing.”

Tommy was quiet for a moment, watching you and thinking, and you thought you saw a flicker of him trying not to laugh, and even if you knew it was in a kind way it still made you blush ever deeper.

“What do you want?” he asked lowly, taking your hands in his.

The question shouldn’t have made you think so much, you knew what you wanted. But no one had asked you that in a long time and meant it so deeply; looking up at Tommy’s concerned face, his hands rubbing up and down your arms, the slight crease between his brows that always appeared when he was thinking, it all made you care for him that much more, and your eyes began to water despite yourself.

But before you could explain Tommy shushed you, his thumbs swiping at your tears. “It’s alright, you’re alright. Not tonight, eh? Do you want to go to bed?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I want you, Tommy. I have. For a long time.”

“Me too, love,” Tommy nodded knowingly after a moment, kissing you softly. “C’mon.”

Wrapping you in his arms, he picked you up off the desk and carried you out of the room towards the stairs.

“I’m not tired, Tommy,” you rolled your eyes in annoyance, Tommy’s muscles tightening around you as you tried to wriggle away. “I said I want this. I know what I want and I’m not some silly girl-”

“Shush, I know you’re not,” Tommy scoffed, shifting you onto one hip when he reached the top of the stairs, reaching out to turn off the lights that lined the long hall before heading towards the double-doors that lay at the far end, “We’re not going to sleep, just want you somewhere better than that desk.”

Corrected, you said nothing, dropping your head into Tommy’s neck and letting his pace towards his bedroom blow your hair from your face.

You didn’t bother to admire the vastness of Tommy’s bedroom, sliding down his body when he set you down before eagerly welcoming his lips back onto yours. Without thinking you began to undress him, fiddling with the buttons of his vest then his shirt, pushing all of it from his shoulders to reveal the alabaster planes of his chest, running your hands across the firm muscle that lay beneath his freckled skin. His hands moved across you as well, your dress pooling at your ankles and your slip gracefully pulled over your head, Tommy’s touch suddenly warm and rough on your bare skin, pulling you close to him.

Seamlessly, you jumped into Tommy’s arms as he picked you up, the air rushing against your skin making you realize you were naked except for your underwear and your stockings. You felt no shame, clinging to Tommy’s warm body so he could undo his belt, the metal clinking in the quiet bedroom. Carrying you onto the bed he settled overtop of you, his body warm and strong with hands tracing your arching spine and curling around your sides, playing with your ribs and dancing along the curves of your breasts, the light cropping of hair on his chest tickling your skin.

“Tommy,” you whispered unconsciously, nervousness showing with the smooth and expensive sheets of his bed warm and thick underneath of you, suddenly feeling out of place again.

“I know,” he murmured, smoothing the hair back from your face. “Do you trust me?”

Fiercely, you nodded.

“You tell me if you want to stop,” Tommy kissed you softly. “Alright?”

Finally you felt yourself let go, falling into him, his skin warm and soft and his scent intoxicating in your nose: the crisp paper smell of the office and the soap on his skin warmed by his expensive cologne mixing in with the night’s tobacco and whiskey. You sighed into his mouth and squeezed the muscles of his arms, your fingernails leaving small half-moons in his skin.

“Tommy,” you whispered again, but his smirk that followed told you he understood the difference this time. “More.”

With a hum he kissed your neck, his hands cautious and then strong as they played with your nipples, hardening them to his liking. Moving downwards he took one into his mouth before the other, slowly rolling his tongue over them, sucking them and dragging his teeth over them until you swore.

One hand drifted to your underwear, your thighs parting willingly. Dragging a knuckle up your underwear, Tommy watched you carefully with knowing eyes as your face went slack under his touch. Back and forth he moved his finger, the touch upon the silk enough to drive you mad. You had never felt anything like it in your life, and the whimpers that left your lips were needy and numerous, begging.

Needing no more consent than that, Tommy sat up and pulled your hips upward so he could roll your underwear from your body, his eyes never leaving your face. As gentle and reverent as he was being you could tell he was hungry, his tongue sliding over his lips subconsciously when he dragged his gaze from your blowing pupils to rake his eyes down your body, your waiting pussy parting his lips when the cold rings of his eyes settled upon it.

Tommy came back down to you to press his lips to yours, running his tongue across your bottom lip and taking it into his mouth, biting down enough to make you moan as he teased you, massaging the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth fell open silently when Tommy’s finger dipped into your wetness, his touch trailing up to a spot that made your whole body jerk when he reached it.

“Fuck,” you swore, unfamiliar stars speckling your vision.

“Hush now,” Tommy chided you, pressing a soft tease of a kiss to your lips before he started to circle your clit with a single finger, slow and light. “You’ll like this, little one.”

You obeyed, letting your eyes shut at the sheer bliss of Tommy teaching you what pleasure felt like, an unknowable amount of time passing before every nerve ending was alight and your chest was heaving with ragged breaths.

“Does it always feel like this?” You managed after a while, your voice mostly breath.

Tommy chuckled and kissed your neck, “I can make it feel even better, princess.”

You had a hard time believing him, but when Tommy lowered his head between your legs, moving your thighs onto his shoulders, you struggled to contain your blush.

“Tommy-“ you started, sitting up to pull your hips back.

“Do you not want me to?” He asked, voice blank with one brow quirked. “Answer me.”

“No, I want you to,” you admitted.

“Good. Lay down.”

You obeyed.

Tommy had been right, and the feeling of his tongue skillfully dancing between your legs soon had your whimpers breaking into moans. He groaned against you, flicking his tongue against your clit before sucking at it hungrily, watching your face ripple with pleasure. Your stomach was soon coiling into a spiral from the circles Tommy was tonguing around your clit, his hands firmly digging into the inside of your thighs.

“Tommy,” you gasped, “something’s happening.”

Tommy chuckled and pressed a kiss to your thigh quickly before returning his lips to your clit, pressing a finger to your entrance and tracing it gently. You nodded in answer to his silent question, and he watched you carefully with devious eyes as he pressed his finger inside of you. The pressure was thick and burning and delicious, tearing a moan from your chest.

“You’re going to come for me, princess.” Tommy murmured against you, a reverent promise vibrating against you in his baritone. “And I want you to look at me.”

“Yes, please Tommy, please,” you gasped weakly, not even knowing what you were begging for, only hoping that you wouldn’t break into pieces. Tommy’s hand that wasn’t playing with the inside of your tightness reached for you, intertwining his fingers in your own.

“Good girl. Let go, love. Come for me.”

With a steady flicking of his tongue and a gentle rocking of his finger Tommy gave you the greatest gift you had ever received, waves of impossible euphoria wracking you, your cries of joy drowning out the sound of Tommy pushing in and out of your gushing wetness and his swears that followed. You never tore your eyes from his, something flowing between the two of you that you didn’t want to end. You squeezed his hand hard, your knuckles going white as your body writhed and spasmed with newfound bliss.

“Perfect, so fucking perfect,” he cooed, continuing to move his finger as your muscles relaxed. “Better get used to that, love.”

Dropping your head back onto the pillows, you blinked at Tommy’s patterned ceiling and pushed your hair from your forehead. “I don’t think I ever will.”

As soon as Tommy pulled his finger from you you wanted it back, leaning up on your elbows to look at him just as he crawled back up to you, kissing you deeply. You’d never tasted anything sweeter.

“I want to make you feel like that,” you said, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, a single microscopic strand of silver splitting it into two sections of dark glossiness.

“You will,” Tommy squinted, smirking. “I can promise you that.”

The look on his face and suggestion in his tone was enough, the fire inside of you that had barely ebbed already flaming up once more. For the first time since you’d undressed each other you looked down at him, the sight of his cock hard and leaking parting your lips with a sharp breath inwards.

“Give me your hand,” Tommy said, not letting your nervousness creep back in, his smirk holding strong at the sight of you taking him in.

Tommy placed your small hand on his hardness and hissed at your touch, your fingers not even coming close to meeting your thumb when wrapped around the size of him. Not letting you go just yet, Tommy squeezed your hand until the pressure was to his liking before he began to move your hand up and down. From the top of the head of him down to the base of his cock he had you stroke him until he let go of your hand, dropping his head into your neck and sighing.

“Fuck. Just like that, princess.”

As desirous as it made you, you revelled more in the novelty of it, Tommy’s cock impossibly hard and bigger than you thought it could have been, filling your hand hotly. Soon he was panting into your neck and it made your pussy throb, a man as powerful as Tommy struggling not to come apart under your touch.

“I want you, Tommy,” you breathed, your hips beginning to churn as you stroked him, wanting nothing more than all of him inside of you. “Please.”

Tommy said nothing, his teeth grazing your neck as he swore from your touch, just as he liked it. Taking one of his hands, you moved him between your legs and he groaned at your wetness. Pulling his head from your neck he looked down to watch himself slide up and down your slit, your clit already swollen again, throbbing with an ache.

“Please, Tommy,” you whimpered, starting to stroke him faster, “More.”

“Mm,” Tommy hummed, turning back to you to watch your face crumple as he began to rub your clit in slow circles. “Do you want me inside of you, little one?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “All of you, Tommy.”

In answer Tommy pushed his finger inside of you again, the pressure making your eyes roll and your face go slack, a soft moan leaving your parted lips.

“There you go,” Tommy murmured to you, “Tell me if it hurts.”

Licking your lips you nodded, Tommy planting a kiss to your collarbone before he pushed two of his fingers against you, the resistance of your tightness giving slightly until they slipped inside.

It did hurt, and you told him so - albeit through a ravenous moan. But when he moved his fingers back to your clit it wasn’t what you wanted, and you told him that too.

“No, more Tommy,” you breathed, your hips raising into the air wantonly. “I know it hurts, but more. Please, more.”

A silent agreement rippled between the two of you, and you saw something dark tear through Tommy’s eyes before he pressed his lips to your cheek, ignoring the darkness for now and murmuring your name softly.

Tommy pushed two fingers back inside of you, slowly and gently, sliding in and out rhythmically, deeper each time. You hissed in pain but your pussy throbbed with pleasure, tight and hot around Tommy’s touch. He cooed and praised you, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold your head to the pillow, looking down at you and never tearing his gaze from your face, watching you carefully.

By the time his fingers were inside of you completely you were burning for him. You were in disbelief of how quickly he had turned you into a wanton mess, your hips churning against his fingers and your lips begging for things you didn’t understand.

“Is this what you want, love?” Tommy asked, beginning to pump his fingers in response to your pleas. “You want me to fuck you?”

You never thought you’d hear him say it, and a crying shake of a whimper spilled from you in response.

When Tommy slipped his fingers from you your cries broke apart in frustration and desire, an orgasm slamming against your threshold. But it calmed when he rolled on top of you, taking your face in his hands and pressing his forehead to yours, the wetness of his fingers stuck hotly to your cheek.

“Are you sure?” Tommy whispered, a seriousness in his voice that hadn’t been there when he’d been responding to your begging.

Without hesitation you nodded, sliding your arms around his neck and kissing him. “I’m sure.”

Tommy nodded back, brushing a sweat-spiraled curl from your forehead, more love than lust in his eyes as he looked down at you. As he settled between your legs he began to kiss you harder than he had yet, adoring and hungry all at once, sighing into your mouth and breathing you in, his hand rubbing his cock up and down your dripping pussy, making your eyes roll behind your fluttering eyelids when it pressed against your swollen clit.

Pulling away to watch you, Tommy waited for one more nod of permission, one you gave hurriedly, holding onto him tightly. Pressing his forehead to yours, Tommy rolled his hips up and against you, his cock pushing against you firmly until something gave way, a flash of heat and pain making you blink hard, your mouth falling open in a silent cry.

Tommy was there for you instantly, his hands intertwining with yours and squeezing them tightly as he kissed you hard and completely, his skin comforting and hot against you. Letting you adjust he held his hips still, caressing you while he kissed you as deeply as he could, running his tongue across yours.

It hurt, yes, a white-hot pain that was fading slower than you’d hoped for, both pain and pleasure throbbing from where Tommy lay between your legs. But you knew this was far more than fucking; you’d never felt more whole, you’d never felt like more of a woman as Tommy slowly began to move inside of you, the waves of pleasure tinged red with pain but still fuzzing you around the edges, ethereal. Tommy held you impossibly closer and murmured in your ear, praising you and worshipping you as he moved faster still, kissing you anywhere he could reach and groaning as he arched his cock deep inside of you.

This time you didn’t see your orgasm coming - burning hot and fast - the unfamiliarity of Tommy filling you wide distracting you from the overwhelming pleasure until it had taken you over. With indecipherable cries you came around him, Tommy’s name the only sensible thing that fell from your lips as your body rolled beneath him. You cursed and prayed all at once, elation electrifying your skin and blurring your vision, your fingers curling into Tommy’s back. He watched you, your foreheads pressed together as you came around his cock, Tommy speeding slightly as his own undoing was quickly brought on by your own. With a deep moan from his chest he emptied himself inside of you, moans giving way to swears as your pussy began to clench and relax, the last trails of your orgasm spasming around him in a tight heat.

Tommy laid on top of you until your breaths fell into a matching rhythm, his cock sliding out of you and leaving a burning ache in its place. Exhaustion mixed in with emotion and you reached for Tommy wordlessly, grateful when he curled your body against his chest, for you weren’t sure if you would have been able to get there on your own. Draping the blanket over your bodies, he pulled you close and kissed your hair, breathing you in and brushing your cheeks.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, the deepness of his voice echoing in your brain as you were pulled into sleep in his arms, murmuring your assent before you succumbed, vaguely hearing him remind you of your perfection, and that you were his.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an existential crisis, Not Saying How You Really Feel™ , disgruntled employees, tutorials of a carnal nature, difficult crossword puzzles, a relatively mild (for now) unleashing of demons, mean letters from Mom, gin on an empty stomach, me being sort of mean to Lizzie even though I loVE HER, series 4 spoilers

The car puttered along below your sprawled body, shaking as Tommy turned onto the rougher roads of Small Heath. You drew out a flat note just to hear your voice ripple and rattle with the car beneath you, your voice breaking apart with the bumps of the Bentley until you laughed. Tommy glared down at you - albeit with amusement - and it only made you laugh harder before you calmed yourself and picked up where you’d left off.

“River in Russia, five letters. Starts with ‘V’”

When Tommy didn’t answer you, you turned your eyes upwards from where your head lay in his lap, your legs thrown over the back of the car seat. Lost in his thoughts, Tommy kept his eyes on the road until you began to poke the eraser of your pencil into his ear, which he swatted away with a grumble.

“Stop that, I’m thinking.”

“Third letter is ‘L’,” you continued, racking your brain and waving your pencil somewhat threateningly near Tommy’s face while you pushed one of your stocking feet into his shaved cheek.

“Volga,” he replied at last, pinching the skin of your ankle until you twisted away with a giggle. Draping your leg back over the front seat to join the other, you let them slip this way and that as Tommy drove the winding roads, the silk of your stockings sliding over the top of the Bentley’s smooth leather seat, your dress long having fallen down your legs and pooling around your hips. “Don’t you tire of those?”

“No,” you said, scribbling his answer into the thin newspaper. “Don’t you tire of being grumpy?”

“No,” Tommy echoed, smirking and reaching over to squeeze the top of your exposed thigh, the rough pads of his fingers scratching your soft skin.

You blew him a kiss before Tommy reluctantly dragged his eyes back to the road, resuming his thoughts of plotting, driving being nothing but his secondary focus. Knowing he was stressed, you pressed a kiss to his clothed thigh that you lay on before returning to the crossword clues you could do without his help.

An ax sharpened by poor timing had cut your honeymoon period short. A strike had fallen heavily upon Tommy and his factories, pushing him over the edge and throwing the business into chaos, even if his properties were empty. Most days it was just the two of you in the massive warehouse, drowning in paperwork and angry telephone calls. Mornings spent in bed had been exchanged for the sun rising while you were both already at your desks; luxurious nights out had been traded in for long evenings in Tommy’s office, both of you trying to keep things afloat. On the bright side, you were grateful. The overload of work was a distraction and an occupier, filling your mind with nothing but numbers and dealings so you could be busy with problems that weren’t your own.

If you didn’t think about it too hard or dare to peer below the surface of your new life, it was bliss. Being with Tommy was easy, even on the most stressful of days. When not filled with work, your hours passed laying with him or wandering around his house; you’d spent hours in the library and even more in the gardens, sometimes with him and sometimes without.

But when you slowed down enough to think, when you lay in bed listening to Tommy’s even breathing, or when you sat in a bath alone, reality nagged. Whether or not you were living in what appeared to be an idealistic bliss, truthfully you were in limbo. You had come home from the Garrison with Tommy that night and hadn’t slept elsewhere since, and your sense told you it couldn’t possibly be all you thought it was. You had yet to speak to your parents, an icy no-man’s land having opened up between you and them. A letter had come from your mother, begging you to come home, but she’d ended it with a paragraph berating your behavior, coming just short of blatantly calling you a harlot. You’d tossed it into the fire. Peace would come eventually and you knew one day soon you would extend the olive branch, but now that your life was finally your own, you refused to let them spoil it.

Tommy hadn’t said a thing in question of your situation and you hadn’t asked. You were far from neglected - he had been unendingly attentive and adoring every second he wasn’t gritted against the strike, never failing to ask about your day or make sure you had all you needed - and everything you wanted. Tommy had showered you with gifts: a new wardrobe; every book you even thought about wanting to read; constant influxes of flowers and macarons. When you tried to adamantly protest, struggling to say thank you and fight him in the same breath, he merely kissed you quiet and insisted, wanting nothing in return, telling you it was what you deserved.

But each time Tommy asked about you you kept your troubles to yourself, trying to be stoic and mature, knowing the last thing he needed was to hear about your existential crisis. But when that void of reality came to haunt you it left you confused and alone, even in Tommy’s arms. Was this to be your home now? Did you leave your parents’ house one night, for nothing but to attend a birthday party, never to return? Were Tommy’s feelings for you deeper than presents and sex? The love that shone in his eyes the first time you’d let him in, had it been genuine? Or was Tommy the kind of man your mother had warned you about long ago: one that grew disenchanted once he’d taken your innocence for himself, the regard he once held you in fading in his mind with each passing day?

The questions you refused to ask Tommy had opened up an abyss that you were carefully toeing the edge of, locking your insecurities inside and working until your writing hand ached and your eyes grew heavy. But even on your best days it still felt like a dream suspended, held up by a ticking clock with a cruel alarm that was ready to wake you both up when it saw fit.

Tommy brought the Bentley to a stop alongside the office and you wriggled off his lap, straightening yourself and handing Tommy’s newspaper back to him with a flick of your wrist, satisfied with the progress of your puzzle. He took it with a glint in his eye and kissed you softly, the glimmers of his silvering hair catching the sun’s light.

“You alright?” he asked, the thumb beneath his leather glove rubbing smoothly along your cheekbone.

The start of the work day was hardly the time to release your sorrows, and you saw the tension behind Tommy’s eyes that currently shone with affection. After giving him a quick kiss in return you grinned, “Fine.”

A loud slam on the hood of the car made you yelp, John’s cheeky grin waiting on the other side of the windshield with Arthur standing behind him, stifling laughter.

Tommy growled and clambered out of the car, leaving you behind with rolling eyes.

“Morning,” you chirped to the two brothers, all of you waiting for Tommy to unlock the factory door. “To what do we owe the displeasure?”

“That mad we interrupted, are ya?” Arthur replied, with a wink. “Nice dress. New?” John snickered and said something to Arthur in Romani, Tommy shot them a withering glare.

“Sure is, thanks,” you smiled sweetly, “You look alright yourself. Nicer than usual, in fact. Did Linda dress you?”

Tommy slid the warehouse door open with a bang, ending the laughter of your trio with a nod of his head. “Right then boys, let’s go.”

John and Arthur rounded back out towards the car after bidding you a respectful farewell, all three of you still stifling your laughter. Being serious was something John and Arthur made far too difficult, no matter how old they were. Turning to you after presumably swearing at his brothers in words you didn’t understand, Tommy placed the keys in your hand, and in answer to your knitted brows and opening mouth he took your face in his hands and said, “Don’t ask. I’ll be back later, alright?”

Tommy didn’t wait for an answer, kissing your forehead and striding away towards his brothers. You watched him go, sighing and praying to whatever god existed that none of them would get themselves killed. Just before you headed inside Tommy turned sharply on his heel, pointing at you, “Lock the door behind us.”

You smirked at his protectiveness and he winked back, the last thing you saw before you slid the door shut.

Heels echoing through the uncomfortably empty warehouse, you made your way upstairs to the office and unlocked the doors, flicking on the lights as you went along. It was strange, having it empty, but it didn’t always unsettle you. Only at night did the abandoned factory loom, and you never drifted far from Tommy’s side once the sun went down.

After hanging your coat you settled into your chair, glancing at Tommy’s diary first. His morning was blank and you sighed, for you’d find no hints about the brothers’ mischief there. Eyeing the mountain of paperwork upon your desk and deciding that - no matter how daunting- it was more appetizing than your thoughts, you blew out your cheeks and rose to make tea before you dug into your tasks. All of your fears rushed to get one last bid upon your mood before you shoved them out for the workday; your living situation, relationship or lack thereof, and future, all called your name with equal desperation and you willed the water to boil faster. By the time you were back at your desk you were certain you’d never wanted to work more, grabbing your pen and digging into the filings with a fervor that would have raised even Tommy’s brows.

Hours slipped by, your inbox shrinking, the mountain looking more like a hill by the time you sat back and rubbed your temples, looking at your desk with satisfaction before you rose to make more tea. Your eyes flicked to the clock while the hot water rushed into your cup; it was nearly noon and Tommy had yet to return. Shrugging to yourself, you took the stack of papers you’d made ready for him into his office, pouring him a whiskey and setting it on his desk, knowing he’d be happy to see it.

With perfect timing, you heard the pattern and weight of Tommy’s footsteps on the stairs and you grinned, spinning from his desk to go meet him. But Tommy stomping through the door dropped your smile, his eyes wild and hair mussed. It was a look you knew well: feral; hungry; needing; wanting.

Before you could get a word out of your mouth he crossed the threshold and slammed his lips against yours, his scent and taste bombarding you in greeting as he pushed you back into his office. You wouldn’t dare protest, for other than work this was the only other activity that put a stop to your thoughts.

Tommy sucked your lip into his mouth and you groaned, melting under his touch. His hands wandered, yanking your dress up to your thighs as he lifted you onto the back of the couch, holding you to his chest so you wouldn’t topple onto the cushions. Instinctively you wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing his coat and jacket from his shoulders, running your hands down his arms and playing with the gold sleeve garters above his elbows and squeezing his biceps. Tommy kissed you hungrily, drinking in your moans and grinding his hips between your legs, his hardening cock making your mouth water.

Fisting his hand in your hair Tommy pulled your head back and looked down at you, smirking with pupils blown. He watched your mouth fall open when he pressed his fingers to your clit, rubbing you over the silk of your lingerie, making sure you were wet before he fucked you. Pulling the fabric away from you, Tommy pushed a finger inside of your dripping pussy and groaned at your wetness, your gasps growing faster as he scraped his teeth below your ear.

“Bend over the couch,” he growled, spinning you around.

With a wicked grin, you obeyed, reveling in Tommy snapping your skirt up and tearing your lingerie to the side. It cut into your flesh and brought a moan to your lips that you couldn’t stifle, the pain pulsing more in your clit than where the silk and lace dug into your skin. Tommy inhaled sharply at the sound and the sight of you, his fingers digging into your waist. You spread your legs and Tommy put his feet between them, holding you open for him.

When he pushed into you roughly you gasped, Tommy’s size still stretching you with pain each time he began to take you. He pulled you up from the couch, holding you to his chest and shushing you, the only solace he offered as he began to fuck you, lifting one of your legs onto the couch so he could thrust deeper.

Tommy’s madness and stress drove him into you hard, both of you soon out of breath and moaning. Your eyes rolled and you reached up to pull at his hair as he found his way under your blouse to grip one breast and then the other, picking up both his strength and speed, hissing with pleasure when you arched your back in response, his cock sliding in deeper.

Intoxicated, your senses and mind filled with nothing but Tommy. All you could feel was his cock arching into you, his hands gripping you tightly, his swears hot in your ear. You tightened around him, moaning his name louder as he fucked you harder.

“Come for me,” Tommy breathed, yanking your head back so he could watch you.

Just as you began to spill over the edge the door swung open and you gasped in alarm, your orgasm screeching to a grinding halt before it threw you over the cliff.

Tommy swore, pulling out and away from you, sending you hurtling forward over the couch until his arm flew around your waist to stop you from toppling to the ground.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Lizzie said, tall and elegant in the doorway, glaring at Tommy with arms crossed, her voice bored. Directing her cold gaze towards you after a moment, she continued, “Not really a surprise though, is it? Did school let out early today? All done with your homework?”

Your mouth fell open but before you could snap something back Tommy gripped your elbow, his eyes meeting yours in an icy warning. From what he told you about Lizzie, playing dead was better than baring your teeth. For him, you kept your flushed lips pursed.

“Nice of you to stop by, Lizzie,” Tommy said sarcastically, righting himself as casually as possible while you did the same, smoothing your hair and straightening your dress. “Never will learn to knock, will you?”

“I need you to sign something for Ruby’s school.”

“Fine,” Tommy sighed, glancing at you with chagrined apologies before you saw yourself out. Lizzie’s shoulder struck yours as you moved past, both of you expecting the other to move out of the way. With a scoff you turned to reach for the door to shut it behind you only to have it slam in your face.

You stared blankly at Tommy’s name on the frosted glass before rolling your eyes and walking back to your desk, plopping into your chair and sighing, lighting a cigarette and breathing deeply. Your heart still raced, more from Lizzie’s surprise than Tommy’s lust.

Jealousy wasn’t something you often experienced, and you were understanding of Tommy’s past and of course his children. Ruby was an angel and Charlie was a gentleman, both of them innocent and never possibly worthy of envy or spite. Tommy hadn’t told you much about Grace, only drunkenly mumbling one night that she would have liked you. It had warmed you, and you wouldn’t dream of pushing him further than that.

But Lizzie was different, never having completely removed her claws from Tommy, if one could even argue they’d been sunk in in the first place. Tommy had yet to speak poorly of her and you respected him for it, but he had never brought Lizzie closer than arm’s length, and you - or Tommy - weren’t sure if she’d ever stop wishing otherwise. Perhaps if she was kind, you would have felt for Lizzie. However, with her comment on your age still smarting, you went about your work with your lips upturned smugly, for you were sure she’d let loose more venom since you’d left the room.

In these times of stress, and without enough hours in the day, office trysts like the one that Lizzie had so tragically cut short seemed to be Tommy’s preferred method of having you. But so far, gentle and drawn-out lovemaking being a thing of the past wasn’t something you were complaining about.

You’d discovered quickly that when stressed, sex was the only thing that brought Tommy back from the brink of madness. The first time he’d taken you in such a state you’d been given mere seconds to be surprised before he had you on top his desk. With a harder grip, filthier words, and less concern for treating you like fine china, Tommy had introduced you to yet another level of pleasure. The feeling of Tommy taking you against his desk - fucking you until you couldn’t think straight so he finally could - was one you were soon more than happy to submit to. If anything, you wanted more, Tommy’s roughness and dominance having lit yet another fire within you.

Besides, anything that made your thoughts go quiet was an activity you were happy to partake in.

Snubbing out your cigarette, you listened to what sounded arguing from within Tommy’s office and sighed, praying that Lizzie would leave soon, for both your sake and Tommy’s. Distracting yourself once more with work, you tuned them out and delved into your numbers and forms.

When the phone rang you answered politely as always, directing it into Tommy’s office, assuming he would want to be interrupted. You were correct, but at your own expense, Lizzie emerging moments later. The baritone of Tommy’s voice echoed from within before Lizzie shut the door on it, far more gently than she had when she’d slammed it in your face.

Lizzie’s stare was harsh on you, you could feel it. Averting your eyes and biting your tongue, you scribbled aimlessly on the paper in front of you, knowing full well you’d have to redo your notes, the words nonsensical.

When she stepped slowly towards you your breath came in sharply and held tight. You wondered if Lizzie would actually strike you, and when you finally looked up to meet her steely blue eyes, you decided that it wasn’t out of the question; upon instinct you stood upright, your chair screeching backwards.

“Tommy likes shiny, new things: things that make him feel good for a while,” she began, your blood running cold. “I’ve seen it before.”

“Not everyone’s story reads just like yours, Miss Stark,” you replied in a pinched voice, emphasizing both her title and her name.

She barely flinched. “He will tire of you. You know that, don’t you? You’re an outlet, and nothing more. You seem smart, don’t be foolish about someone like Tommy.”

You knew she was playing with your fears, you knew she was jealous, and you kept your jaw clenched to try and fight it all off. But she saw you struggling and snorted a laugh, lighting a cigarette for herself. Surprisingly, she lit one for you, offering it to you as if in recognition of the man you’d shared, a war medal. You didn’t want it, but not knowing what else to do, you took it with shaking hands, not bothering to thank her.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, doll. But you’re not the first and not the last.” She snorted again before breathing deeply on her cigarette.

It took all your might to keep your words and your shaking to yourself, refusing to break under Lizzie’s stare, aligning your focus on the single strand of silver that cut a glossy lock of her hair in two. But a smugness quirked the edges of her lips and she knew she’d gotten to you, satisfied.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice far stronger than you felt.

Lizzie regarded you for a moment and her face changed, a sadness coming into her eyes that was genuine and empathetic instead of catty and spiteful. It scared you, the empathy, for it was real - not something false that was bred from envy or resentment.

“You will,” she said sadly, her voice nearly a whisper, still angry, but you could tell it was more for Tommy and less for you. “You ain’t special. Neither was I.”

Lizzie gave you one more solemn look before she dropped her half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray and headed towards the door, sliding on her coat and grabbing her purse from the brass hook it hung from. The lipstick-stained butt still smoked in the tray, curling up in long tendrils into your view of her, your lips still failing to form words.

“Go on and live your own life, luv,” Lizzie said, halfway out the door, “before you get stuck here.”

Someone could have mistaken you for a statue for how long you stood there in your own heavy silence. With Tommy off the phone, the only sounds were the ticking clock, your forcedly even breathing, and the rushing pulse of your blood in your ears.

Tommy called for you, your head swinging towards the sound.

“Coming,” you replied, gathering his diary and paperwork into your arms sloppily. For now, you would keep it together - you’d grown good at it, after all. With a simple claim of illness Tommy would let you go home - his home - and then maybe you would finally let yourself think.

Tommy didn’t look up when you came in, still jacketless and writing steadily, his glasses low on his slightly freckled nose and glinting in the sun.

“Here’s your diary,” you began, forcing your voice into an even normalcy, flicking through your papers. “Pol’s coming by in half an hour. I got a lot of these numbers done, and found two agencies with men willing to work for your wages, I put their numbers-”

“That’ll be fine, thank you,” Tommy said shortly, still not looking up.

You bristled, dropping the pile of your work onto his desk. “Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Tommy cleared his throat, moving the document he just signed onto a growing pile before grabbing another. “Just busy.”

“Well that makes two of us, doesn’t it?” you retorted, your voice crisp. His mood had clearly turned foul and it hardly felt like the last time you’d been in this room Tommy had been inside of you, whispering your name. Lizzie’s words pounded in your brain.

“I don’t feel well.”

Now Tommy looked up, his brows knitted, arctic eyes taking you in over top of his spectacles. “Why?”

“Why?” you snorted. “I don’t know why. Can you get someone to take me home?”

Tommy squinted at you and you tried to keep your face passive under his scrutinous gaze. “What did Lizzie say to you?”

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, and Tommy just blinked. “I’ll find my own way home, since you’re busy.”

Sighing, Tommy tossed his pen onto his desk and steepled his fingers, still squinting at you. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” you repeated, sharper this time. You silently asked yourself the same question, your temper seemingly winding up for a charge without any kind of plan for battle. You avoided Tommy’s eyes.

“I just don’t feel well. And besides,” you snipped, a blind courage driving your fear and anger, “you seem perfectly fine without me. Unless you want to finish your fuck.”

Now it was Tommy’s turn to scoff, his voice bitter. “What did you say?”

“You heard what I said.”

Tommy stood suddenly, his chair hitting the shelf behind him, a photograph falling to the floor and shattering, the splintering glass making you jump. But it was the sight of him that frightened you, finally seeing the side of him that made others cower in his presence.

“I don’t have fucking time for this!” Tommy yelled, truly yelled, his voice booming into the deepest corners of his empty warehouse. “I have enough on without this shit from you and Lizzie. Just get out if you’re going to act like a fuckin’ child.”

Silence fell but you could have sworn you heard your chest crack. Tommy’s face crumpled in agony and regret but blurred as your eyes filled with tears, your mouth falling open. Unable to spend another second with Tommy you spun on your heels, practically running from the room and grabbing your coat, your name being called and the coat rack toppling the last things you heard as you fled from the office, slipping out the back door and running as fast as your feet could take you.

***********

“‘Nother”

“No, luv.”

“Pleeease,” you begged, jutting your lower lip out towards the bartender whose name, along with the pub’s name, you’d forgotten.

“You’re done. I know who you are - Tommy will have my head, might do it anyway for the state you’re in.”

Batting your eyelashes, you rested your chin on your hand, your head lolling, and pouted. “I said, I wanted another. Please, Sir, I had an awful day.”

With pursed lips and a sigh the barkeep acquiesced, sliding you another gin but looking none too thrilled about it.

You’d ran until you couldn’t anymore, and then you walked even further, finally ducking into a hole-in-the-wall pub somewhere in Birmingham when your thoughts and heartbreak begged for a drink.

Gin had been the perfect anesthetic for the sting of Tommy’s words, and you’d been throwing drinks back with fervor all afternoon. You weren’t sure what had hurt worse, his comment about your childishness - or lumping you together with Lizzie. Unfortunately, alcohol didn’t numb her sad words like it did Tommy’s angry ones.

“Tommy Shelby can fuck right off,” you hiccuped to yourself, the few customers that remained in the dingy pub exchanging nervous glances and preparing to leave, not even wanting to be in the same room as someone who dared to slander Tommy Shelby. Even if that person was inebriated.

But unfortunately, speak of the devil and he doth appear, and the pub’s sudden silence drew your eyes to the door. Tommy’s gaze was intense enough to lay anyone bare, everyone trying to look innocent - and as uninvolved with you as possible. Tommy was out of breath and fierce looking, his icy eyes glaring out from under his cap as they swept the room. You suddenly felt nauseous, and you were almost sure it wasn’t the gin.

“Oh god,” you groaned loudly, downing your drink and slapping the bar obnoxiously to signal for another. “One more, come on, hurry up then.”

The bartender withered under Tommy’s scowl of warning and turned his back on you, cleaning an impeccable glass as if it was the dirtiest one in the house.

“I don’t think you understand how badly I want - no, need - another drink,” you hiccuped again, talking louder than you meant to, staring at the bartenders back and ignoring Tommy’s arrival to your side, reaching for the bottle of clear salvation yourself that lay just out of arm’s length.

“I’ve had people looking everywhere for you,” Tommy growled, reaching past you to snatch the bottle, moving it to the other side of him.

You snorted with laughter, slurring “Congratulations, you’re verrry important.”

Tommy’s head slid into two very blurry ones as you finally looked at him, and you giggled.

“We’re leaving,” Tommy said, no amusement on his face or in his voice.

“Maybe you’re leaving,” you announced, “but I’m not leaving, because I still haven’t gotten that drink,” you yelled the last word at the bartender, who turned around with a sheepish look towards Tommy.

“Ever heard of over-serving?” Tommy hissed at him, the quiet threat in his eyes making the man shrink in understanding that this discussion wasn’t over. Sliding a powerful arm under yours to pull you from the stool, Tommy looked down at your flushed face and sighed, more relieved now that he’d found you, no matter the state you were in, watching your eyelids flutter. “You’ve had enough drinks.”

“I don’t want to go home with you,” you said, trying to push him away and failing. 

“I know you don’t,” Tommy said, continuing more for himself than you as he pulled your coat on easily over your flailing arms of protest, muttering, “Can’t blame you for that.”

When he dragged you out into the street you dug your heels into the Small Heath dirt, you and Tommy now having a literal tug-of-war with your arm.

“No,” you squealed, drawing closer to Tommy only to try and bite his arm. “I said no.”

Tommy’s two heads looked like they were trying not to laugh and it only boiled your blood, your face scrunching in anger that actually broke his face into a smile. “Have you ever been this drunk before?”

“Don’t patronize at me,” you slurred, mispronouncing - and slightly misusing - the word. “Am I just a cute little child to play with? Did you get me a toy, too?”

Chagrined, Tommy dropped his smile to raise a brow. “Planning on sleeping anywhere other than the street tonight?”

“I’ll figure it out,” you said with bravado, finally wrestling your wrist away before you tried to go around him, heading towards absolutely nowhere.

“Not tonight. We’re leaving,” Tommy replied, reaching for you. “It’s not safe right now, and I need to explain some things-”

“No,” you slurred, snatching your arm away from him and turning the heads of passersby, “you don’t care.”

But your voice cracked, shattering your facade of anger and ringing the alarm for your tears, which threatened to spill over as you dwelled on your own words. The drink had chased away your pain, but as always there was a price to pay, your emotions finally coming back for you tenfold.

“Yes I do,” Tommy said sadly but firmly, his patience fading. “We’ll speak about that tomorrow. For now, there’s fuckin’ trouble about and we’re leaving. You’re coming home with me.”

“Home,” you laughed loudly, the sound echoing off of the sooty walls of the street. “Your home? Or is it my home? Should I start-” you hiccupped, “ - paying rent? Lizzie said-”

Tommy sighed, reaching for you again, “Listen, whatever Lizzie told you-”

“Wasn’t true, is that right?” you replied sloppily, laughing darkly and drawing close to Tommy only to attempt to wrestle into his jacket for his flask and failing, a plan you’d genuinely thought would work.

Tommy seized your wrists and muttering your name. “Christ. Stop it, we’re getting in the car -”

“No,” you shrieked, pulling away and wheeling on him, staring him down in a faceoff. “Lizzie said you’ll get tired of me.”

“I bet she did. Let’s go, it’s not the time -”

“It’s never the time!” you were yelling now, and if the person you’d been yelling at was anyone other than Tommy people in the street would have gathered to stare. Thankfully for you, they ducked their heads and sped their pace. “You don’t tell me anything,” you slurred, driven faster as your anger and insecurity finally boiled over, “I feel like your whore.”

Waving your hands around with drama you nearly threw yourself off balance but it didn’t deter you, starting to speak again as soon as Tommy opened his mouth to stop you.

“Do you care about me?” your voice cracked out, and your tears began to smudge your already blurry vision. “Or am I just another one of your playthings? Young and stupid, is that right? Easy to throw in the rubbish once you get bored of buying me pretty things and fucking me?”

“No,” Tommy breathed, closing the space between you before you could whirl away, your fists pounding against his chest until he crushed you into him, his scent weakening you. “You’re none of those things, eh? And I care about you, very much.”

A sob broke apart in your chest and you cried into Tommy’s coat, sloppy and unabashed, your cries heaving and your sniffles loud, out of fight and drunk on emotion as well as hard liquor.

“We’ll talk when you’re sober. Now, we need to go, it’s not safe -”

“Tommy?” you said, suddenly unconcerned for your argument and more concerned for the world beginning to spin around you.

“Hm?”

“I don’t feel good,” you moaned, your tongue thick in your mouth.

Tommy resisted a chuckle, letting you out of his embrace so you could bend at the waist. “I bet you don’t.”

The last thing you remembered was Tommy’s hands entwining in your hair to hold it back as you spilled your stomach full of gin into the Small Heath street.

********

When you woke the sky was black beyond the curtains, your head heavy and mouth dry. Cracking your eyes open felt like it was going to be an effort so you decided against it. Laying in some version of peace, you came to slowly, breathing in Tommy’s scent on the sheets and listening to the even rhythm of the grandfather clock.

Your makeshift serenity didn’t last for long, the antics of your afternoon and your argument with Tommy rushing into your brain with an unwelcome throbbing. You groaned, burying your face into the downy pillow.

Whether or not a hangover was pulsing on your threshold, you quickly decided not to think for another second without talking to Tommy. You’d suffered in silence enough, and it had earned you nothing but a stomach full of gin and an argument that could have been avoided.

You pushed yourself off of the bed, taking a quick inventory of yourself as your feet hit the floor. Tommy - or Frances - had undressed you except for your knickers, and you blessed whoever it had been, for they’d taken the pins out of your hair as well. Padding towards the door, you grabbed one of Tommy’s shirts and slid it onto your shoulders, buttoning it as you crept down the stairs.

The clock in the living room read midnight, and to no surprise the crack under Tommy’s office door was still alight. Sheepishly you approached it, shifting your weight and sighing, thinking that you were possibly still a little drunk. You figured it could only help with your courage. But just as you raised your fist to knock, Tommy’s voice boomed from within.

“I know you’re standing there.”

Biting your lip, you turned the brass knob and tip-toed halfway into the doorway, peering around the door. Tommy sat tieless at his desk, a cigarette hanging between his lips and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his eyes tired but amused, taking you in.

“Up and about, I see.”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, the door covering half of your body as you fiddled with the door knob. “Can I come in?”

“Already halfway there aren’t you?” he smiled at you softly and you returned it, shuffling into the room. “C’mere. Just have to finish these.”

You tip-toed to his chair and stood awkwardly next to it, tracing a scuff in the wood of his desk. Watching Tommy’s pen scratch his signature on document after document, you suddenly felt very silly; with all the feelings roiling inside of you, you didn’t know where to begin now that you weren’t drunk and shouting. Alcohol was very useful for those sorts of things, and you tried to think of the words you would say without it fueling you.

“Done,” Tommy said at last, sliding his chair back and holding his arms out to you. Automatically you climbed into his lap, snuggling into his chest and sighing. 

Rubbing your back, Tommy’s voice rumbled deeply in his chest, vibrating your ribs. “Feeling alright?”

“Yes,” you mused, blushing. “Could be worse.”

Tommy chuckled, peering down at you. “I’d say.”

Sitting up in his lap to look at him, you rubbed his cheekbone and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Tommy shook his head, clearing his throat stiffly, “I’m sorry. Shouldn’tve snapped at you.”

“It’s okay-”

“No it’s not,” Tommy interrupted, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your head up so he could look you in the eyes. “No one speaks to you like that, especially not me. Understand?”

“Yes,” you said quietly.

“Good,” Tommy kissed your nose before continuing, sarcasm lilting his Brum. “Now, care to tell me anything that’s been bothering you?”

With a deep breath, you flicked your gaze from one of his jarring eyes to the other, and he blinked at you patiently.

“You can tell me anything, eh? Tell me.”

“I just-” you rubbed one of your eyes so you could break away from his knowing stare, “- I don’t want to be some, I don’t know, some fling of yours, some stupid doll. Lizzie said you’d grow tired of me, that you grow tired of everyone. And do you care that I stay here every night? Do you even want to be with me? Do you -”

Tommy hushed you gently, pulling you back against him so he could press his lips to yours, taking your face into his hands. “Listen to me, alright?”

You nodded, the rough skin of his fingers tickling your jaw.

“I know you don’t want to tell me things, that you think I don’t want to hear it. Is that right?”

“Yes,” you admitted, your voice small. “That’s right.”

“Right. Well, you’re wrong, eh? I didn’t take you home with me to keep you here as a toy.” Tommy looked at you seriously, his eyes immobilizing you. “I care for you. Very much. You’re my girl, alright? And you’re not something I could ever tire of.”

You tore your eyes away from his gaze, the intensity too much when paired with his words, blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, you obeyed.

“If you want your own flat, you get your own flat, and I’ll take care of it. But if you want to stay here, I’ll have you for as long as you want to stay.” Tommy grumbled and you tried to stop your smile, thoroughly enjoying when he struggled for words, out of his element. “But I don’t want you to leave.”

You giggled, your heart bursting and lighter all at the same time, and he broke a smile at the sound, snaking his arms around you again as you sing-songed to him.

“You want me to stay. I’m your girl.”

“Oh, stop it,” Tommy muttered, leaning to grab his cigarettes, sliding one out for you and lighting it first, sticking it between your lips and winking at you. “Can’t very well go without you, now can I?”

“I suppose not,” you grinned, placing your hand on his face and rubbing his arched cheekbone. “And if I didn’t have you, who would hold my hair back when I’m throwing up straight gin?”

Tommy nearly laughed, pinching your hip “Good point, love. Not to mention someone needs to teach you how to drink.”

You rolled your eyes and giggled, “Fair.”

“Now,” Tommy said, his face serious as he stuck his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and took your face into his hands. “I have some things to tell you.”

In more or less words, Tommy explained that the reason for the telephone call that had poisoned his mood, the stress that snapped upon you, and his urgency to get you off the streets had very little to do with you and everything to do with Tommy’s latest threat. Tommy found himself facing the kind of young men that he used to be: gangs and rivals emerging from Birmingham’s sooty steelwork with their hungry eyes on Tommy’s crown, aiming for him as he had once aimed for his predecessors.

He didn’t seem overly concerned and neither were you. There were extra men at the house as a precaution, and you would never be at the office alone. Tommy explained in his way that it wasn’t serious, and even you knew that no gang or desirous usurper was sophisticated enough to topple someone as cunning as Tommy, or strong enough to take on the Peaky Blinders. But Tommy was being cautious, for he had once been one of those young men himself, and now that you were in his life he would take no risks. Whether or not it was naive you didn’t care: you trusted Tommy and knew he would keep you safe, which he had assured you of more than once.

“Mm” you hummed, when he was done, kissing him with smoke swirling from your moving lips. “Poor old man.”

“Don’t,” Tommy growled, pinching your side until you squealed. “Now when all this over, I’m taking you away somewhere. Only if you want.”

You shot up in Tommy’s arms and he chuckled as he had to hold you tight to keep you on his lap, your face lit up.

“Where?”

Tommy shrugged, “Wherever you want.”

Biting your lip, your eyes drifted to the bookcase as you tried to think, your mind unable to pick one thing when you could have anything.

“I’ll decide later,” you said, throwing your arms around Tommy’s neck and burying your face in the crook of it, placing kisses along his cologned skin, taking your time. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered. Tommy kissed your hair and took your cigarette, putting his out at the same time.

“Hey!” you complained, pulling your head from his neck. “I wasn’t done with that.”

Tommy silenced you with a kiss, shifting you in his lap so you could straddle him, his hands slipping beneath his shirt that you wore, running up and down your back.

“Do you want another?” he hummed, planting kisses all along your jaw.

“Mm, no,” you mused, “this is fine.”

“Thought so,” Tommy said sucking a lovebite into your neck and smirking at your low hum of contentment.

The feeling of Tommy’s lips moving slowly across your skin was something you’d missed more than you thought, Tommy taking his time to get you gasping instead of seizing you hungrily, not currently desperate to sate his demons.

You could tell this was Tommy’s second apology, his hands gentle as they caressed your skin and undid the buttons of your shirt, his sighs deep and hot as they washed over you, Tommy apparently soaking up this time as much as you were.

The more passionate your kisses grew the more your slow touches sped into needy ones, Tommy doing the same as you drew his bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth in until he growled, standing quickly with his fingers sinking into your waist. He started out of the office, the two of you laughing into each other’s mouths as he bumped into a shelf and then the doorframe. Much more gracefully did he carry you up the stairs, even with your lips running up and down his neck.

By the time Tommy reached the top of the staircase he needed your lips back on his, pressing you into the wall of the hallway and groaning, letting you slide out of his arms and to the floor. Pushing his shirt from your shoulders you let it drop to the floor, whining when Tommy’s hands found your breasts, gently tracing one nipple and then the other, both of them growing hard under his touch.

Scooping you up again, Tommy lifted you high enough so he could take a nipple into his mouth, heading towards his bedroom and swirling his tongue around one nipple before showering attention on the other. By the time he reached the bedroom you could feel your wetness soaking your lingerie, your hands knotted in Tommy’s hair as he set you down, your feet sinking into the plush carpet. You undid his shirt hastily, pushing it from his arms before trailing your hands back up his skin, dragging your nails down his chest gently and reveling in the goosebumps they left behind, Tommy sighing into your mouth.

He held you to him tightly, backing you towards the bed and sliding his hand between your legs after pushing your lingerie down to your ankles. Only briefly had the touch of Tommy’s deft fingers been there in the past few weeks, and your lips parted in a silent moan, his fingers circling your clit, teasing.

“Please, Tommy,” you said, bursting with lust, almost on accident.

“Please what, princess?” Tommy whispered in your ear, dragging his finger up and down your slit. “Tell me.”

A simple command seemed to be one you couldn’t follow, everything in you freezing as you realized you couldn’t articulate it. Between a red sense of shame and a lack of understanding, you were frozen solid in his arms, and Tommy stopped moving against you, whispering your name.

“Hey,” he urged gently, sliding his hands to your face. “You can tell me.”

“No,” you nearly laughed, “I don’t think I can.”

“Tell me. From here on out, you tell me everything, alright?”

You had yet to adjust to his bluntness, your voice getting higher as you skirted around the words that danced behind your lips.

“I just-” you rubbed your temples, “It’s not that you don’t satisfy me - you do.”

Tommy waited patiently, rubbing your arms and smoothing your hair, silent.

“Do you remember the first night we were together?” you tried, looking up at him, “And I told you I wanted more, I kept wanting more?”

“Yes,” Tommy replied, looking smug, “I do.”

“That I wanted more, even though…it hurt.“

Tommy’s eyes simmered and you blushed. “Go on, princess. Tell me.”

“I just…I still feel like that. I want more. I want to be yours.”

“You are mine,” Tommy said matter of factly, something akin to annoyance challenging you in his eyes.

“I know, I know,” you said quickly, “I guess I just mean that.. I mean - do you want to make love to me forever? It’s perfect, and you’re perfect, but -”

He watched you with dark but amused eyes, saying nothing, refusing to help you complete your sentences.

“Or, do you want nothing more than to bend me over your desk day after day? I know it would suffice,” you quipped flirtily, “but if you could do anything to me,” you said, your voice dropping low, “what would it be?”

Tommy shifted his weight, licking his lips quickly before he pushed them into a smirk of satisfaction.

“You tell me, little one, since you’re getting so good at telling me things,” he said slowly, sarcasm not-so-subtly hid in the deep but comforting threat of his voice, his hand sliding back between your legs, “What do you want me to do to you?”

Instantly you whimpered at his touch and his voice, Tommy’s hand coming to your throat as he walked you backwards, pinning you between him and the wall.

“Would you have me do this?” he asked, his voice gravelly and hot in your ear, squeezing your neck lightly and watching your lips part, his fingers rubbing light circles between your legs.

“Yes,” you whispered, weakening under his touch and his the intuition of his devils.

Your vision spun as Tommy pressed your front to the wall, your arms behind your back, trapped easily in his grip. He held them tightly and slid his fingers inside of you, not letting your tightening pussy adjust before he starting pumping them in and out of you, arching them perfectly.

“This?”

You just moaned, the feeling of being helpless in his control new and raw, stars already speckling the back of your eyelids. Tommy slowed his pace slightly, showing you mercy, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your head thrown back against his chest.

“I thought so, princess. What else do you want?”

Not thinking, only obeying, you breathed, “I want to taste you, Tommy.”

Tommy chuckled, pressing his lips to the skin where your neck arched gracefully into your shoulder. “I know you do.”

You had yet to suck Tommy’s cock; every time you wanted to you had either silently kept it to yourself out of cowardice or been seduced by the thought of him inside you instead, usually a little bit of both. With ravenous office trysts being the thing you two so desperately craved, there hadn’t been time to confess.

Tommy spun you back to face him, picking you up smoothly and walking you towards where the fire burned, kissing you passionately and playing with your hair. The fire danced shadows across his sculpted face and the marble planes of his chest, making him look more god than man, the silver in his hair shining in even more contrast to the rest of his dark locks, messy from where you’d run your fingers through them.

Settling into one of the velvet chairs that lay before the fireplace, Tommy held you in his lap and continued to kiss you, waiting until your anxious breathing had evened again before he slid you down his legs and to the floor.

Pulling back only slightly, he pressed his lips to yours tenderly, your eyes wide as you looked up at him.

“Are you sure?” Tommy asked softly, his tone not matching the man that had you against the wall moments before. His thumb ran along your bottom lip, tracing. “No more than you can take for now, alright?”

Leaning against his knee you nodded, the fabric of his pants scratching your cheek.

Tommy hummed and released your face, settling his hands back on the arms of his chair. “Go on then.”

Timidly you reached for Tommy’s belt, sliding the smooth leather through the buckle and releasing it, fumbling and struggling with the prong when it caught in a hole and stuck. Your shaking hands moved too sloppily to undo it, sticking it again and again.

Tommy took your face in his hands once more and pulled you upwards, leaning down to press his lips against yours. With eyes shut and lips moving softly against him you finally slipped Tommy’s belt undone, sighing into his mouth.

“Relax,” Tommy whispered against your lips, brushing your hair back from your face before pressing his forehead to yours. “Breathe, alright?”

You nodded in his hands, running your hands up and down the inside of his thighs. Tommy released you, easing you down by your chin until you were settled back between his legs, holding your gaze, the flames of the fire flickering in his eyes. By the time you reached Tommy’s cock your hands had stopped shaking, his sharp inhale as you palmed him giving you courage.

Needing little direction to release him from his boxers, Tommy’s hiss of pleasure as you ran your hands up and down him sent a chill down your spine.

“Open your mouth, pretty girl,” Tommy whispered huskily, watching you.

With nervous hesitation, you did, and Tommy smiled, reaching forward to stick his thumb in your mouth.

“Wider.”

Pulling your jaw open, Tommy groaned and moved two of his fingers into your mouth, sliding in and out.

“Good girl. Breathe.”

You did, trying to soothe your heartbeat into the even rhythm you were rubbing up and down Tommy’s cock. He began to slide his fingers deeper into your mouth with each pass, working your spit over your tongue, his eyes falling to half lidded as he brought his fingers out to rub them across your reddening lips.

Tommy slipped them back in and cooed to you as you gagged on his fingers. “That’s it, princess. Relax.”

It was a foreign feeling, and you weren’t entirely sure it was one you enjoyed, but the look on Tommy’s face as he slid his fingers into your willing throat shot a shard of heat in between your legs. By the time Tommy was done relaxing you you were burning, your nerves having settled from on edge to a raw wanting.

“C’mere,” Tommy rasped, wiping his fingers across your cheek, your spit cooling on your face. You shimmied your knees ever closer, still holding his cock in your hands. “Take your time. Go on.”

Shifting upon your already aching knees, a curl fell in your face as you gently wrapped your lips around the head of Tommy’s cock. Automatically you swirled your tongue over him, and the sound of his lips parting and the groan that left his chest had you doing so again, running your tongue up and down him, still working him with your hands.

Tommy was patient but throbbing, letting you slowly take more of him with each pass of your lips, one hand gripping the arm of his chair and one resting on your hair, showing you just what he liked.

“I like this,” you said breathlessly after some time had passed of you adjusting to him, causing Tommy to chuckle at you, his thumb rubbing your cheek.

“That’s good. Do you want more, princess?” Tommy asked, his hungry eyes looking down at you.

Burning with lust, you hummed assent, flicking your tongue over the head of him and Tommy smirked.

“Take more, then. Go on.”

Eagerly you did, rising on your knees only to lower your head back onto him, sliding as much of his cock into your mouth as you could.

“Very good, little one. Relax,” Tommy said when you gagged, placing a hand on the back of your head to prevent you from taking his cock out of your mouth. You could still breathe but you looked up at him in alarm, breathing heavily through your nose and reflexively wanting nothing more than to pull off of him.

Tommy saw it in your eyes and shook his head. “No, you can do it. Show me how good you are. Show me, princess.”

You moaned at his words and his possession, wanting nothing more than to please him. Shifting your weight on your knees, you wiggled closer and relaxed your throat as much as you could, moving your lips further down Tommy’s length, his cock slipping down your throat. Tommy swore and began to move his cock into your mouth, holding your head still.

Tommy stood from the chair but didn’t release your head from his grip, keeping himself in your mouth. You gagged again when he filled your mouth differently, deeper, your eyes brimming with reflexive tears. Tommy released you and you pulled off his cock, licking your lips and breathing deeply, letting the tears roll.

“More,” you whispered quietly, your gaze flicking to his cock and back to his eyes again, begging.

“You do like this, don’t you?” Tommy rasped, answering your request by taking your hair back up in his hands and sliding his cock slowly to the back of your throat. “Do you want Daddy to fuck your throat, or do you want to do it by yourself?”

Nearly coming at the sound of the word, your eyes rolled and you moaned deeply, Tommy’s dominance turning your will to dust.

“Can’t hear you, princess.”

“You,” you breathed, Tommy pulling your head from him.

“Who would that be?”

“You, Daddy,” you tried, the word hot on your tongue and making your pussy ache, your thighs slick with your desire.

“Better.” Tommy chided, moving you back onto his cock. “No hands then, alright?”

Timidly, you dropped your hands from his cock, completely in his control now that you had nothing to stop him from sliding in farther than you could take.

“Do you trust me?” Tommy asked quietly, and your watering eyes looked up to him. Nodding the best you could with his size filling your mouth, you submitted.

Needing nothing else, Tommy stroked himself into your mouth, slower and then faster, always coming close to your limit but somehow never crossing it, swearing as he fucked your throat, the fire casting your carnal silhouettes obscenely onto the wall behind the bed. More than once did you raise your hands to his cock out of instinct, wanting control for yourself, and each time Tommy chided you, the discipline stirring your orgasm more than his cock in your mouth.

“Now,” Tommy breathed, not breaking his pace, “Daddy is going to come in your mouth, and I want you to swallow every last drop. Can you do that?”

Not truly knowing if you’d be able to or not, you batted your eyelashes in promise anyway, pleasing Tommy the only thing you wanted.

Tommy warned you right before he came, with his brows furrowed and his lips parting in a silent moan. You felt his cum fill your mouth, hot and heady upon your tongue. Nearly all of it slid down your throat, but you moaned from the sheer feeling of it at the last second, some of it dripping from your lips as Tommy stroked the last of himself into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he cooed, breathless, “just like that.”

When he was finished Tommy bent to pick you up off the floor, settling back into the chair with you in his lap. You breathed heavily, matching your rhythm with his and licking your lips, revelling in Tommy’s taste, your pussy throbbing.

“I want to do that all the time,” you sighed.

Tommy chuckled and stood up again, holding you close. “Is that right, princess?”

“Yes,” you giggled, kissing his neck as Tommy walked you to the bed.

“Such a good girl for me,” Tommy murmured, dropping you onto the blankets and climbing overtop of you, his cock hard again, brushing against your thigh.

“Tommy?”

“Mm?” Tommy’s lips kissed down your chest, his teeth nipping at the flushed skin of your breasts.

“Do you promise you want this?” you asked, unsure again, even though you could feel Tommy’s dominance in every piece of him. “This isn’t just for my benefit, is it?”

Tommy looked up at you, his eyes like lanterns in the darkness of the room, and exhaled sharply in amusement. Crawling back up to you, he wrapped his hand in your hair and pulled your head back.

“You think I haven’t wanted this?” Tommy growled, sinking his teeth into your neck, the pain of it shuddering your muscles with a chilled pleasure that he sensed, grinning into your skin, his Brummie husky and low. “You think I haven’t wanted to tie you to this bed and fuck you senseless? Because I have, princess.”

Grateful for Tommy’s weight pinning you down, for you felt like you’d float away otherwise, you whimpered when he trailed his fingers around your clit, coming close to touching it but refusing to.

“I have lots of things to teach you, little one.”

“Please,” you said quickly, trying to churn your hips to get the tips of Tommy’s fingers to touch your aching nerves.

But when he pulled away completely you whined in frustration, looking at him with confused eyes.

“You’re a smart girl, so I hope you have no trouble remembering that there will be consequences for bratty behavior from now on, do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you nodded, smirking.

“Very good,” Tommy said, his eyes sinister as he squeezed your cheeks tightly, kissing your pouted lips and bringing his fingers back to your pussy, sliding in and out of you slowly until you were gasping. “Your first lesson, princess, is going to be about patience, for the rest of your lessons will have to come later. Do you understand?”

Whimpering in agreeance, you felt your orgasm begin to tighten inside of you and you arched your back, silently begging Tommy to go deeper.

“Good. I’m going to fuck you now,” Tommy murmured, looking amused at the state of you while he smoothed hair away from your forehead, “and you cannot come until I say so.”

“Really?” you squeaked, looking at him in alarm.

Tommy’s smile spread devilishly in response to your innocence. “Really.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” you whined in disbelief, already halfway over the edge.

Tommy ignored you, sitting back on his heels and pulling you towards him, thrusting inside of you just as your hips met his.

Crying out at the delicious burning from his cock spreading you wide, you nearly came there and then, moaning through gritted teeth, your whimpers coming out shaking.

“I can’t, Tommy, I can’t.”

Tommy leaned down and slowly rolled his hips into you, kissing you deeply, his tongue swirling around yours, pulling back so his lips barely touched yours, “Do you need to come already, princess?”

“Yes,” you begged, taking his face in your hands and pressing his forehead to his. “Please, Tom - Daddy. Please”

Tommy chuckled, sitting back up and sliding his thumb into your mouth. “I won’t be cruel to you on your first go, love. But I hope next time your patience will be in better order. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your head lolling back onto the sheets.

“Good girl. Come for me.”

Tommy fucked you hard, the sound of his cock stroking into your wetness filling the bedroom, second only to the cries of euphoria leaving your lips, your body burning to ash. Tommy didn’t slow through your first orgasm and fucked you halfway into your second, his whispers of filth hot in your ear and his lips marking your neck and collarbones. Your eyes rolled and your lips were already begging to come again, trying your best to resist your orgasm.

“Not yet,” Tommy hissed, holding you to the bed by your throat, using his grip as leverage to thrust into you.

“Please, Daddy,” you breathed under his grip, pleading.

Without pulling out of you Tommy lifted you onto his lap, rocking you downwards just as he rolled his cock upwards, nearly laughing from how good you felt and kissing your jaw. You threw your arms around Tommy’s neck and moaned his name into his hair as he moved you up and down as he pleased.

“You wait for me, little one,” Tommy whispered, picking up his pace, his fingers digging into your ass hard enough to leave marks.

Biting your lip, you nodded and pressed your forehead to his, holding his cheeks and refusing to look away, breathing him in and keeping your orgasm at bay.

You had no idea how you held on but you did, only falling apart once Tommy began to unravel himself. With your back arching to take his cock deeper, his breaths grew uneven and his pace stuttered from effort, his muscles rippling as he moved you both faster still. Chills tore across your skin and you clung to Tommy desperately, moaning into his mouth and coming harder than you ever had, the heat of Tommy coming inside of you only spurring your fire on, his deep groan of bliss sparking more electricity across your skin.

Time passed, Tommy holding you tight and smoothing your hair as your heartbeats slowed. You stayed like that for a while, your sweat-dewed skins soft against each other, your legs tight around Tommy’s waist.

“Are you alright?” he asked, peering down at where you’d rested your head on his chest.

“Mm,” you yawned. “Perfect.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes,” you pushed against his chest weakly, not bothering to open your eyes to see the smug grin that you had no doubt had slipped onto his face. “Perfectly perfect.”

Tommy chuckled, kissing your forehead and shifting you into one arm, pulling the sheets back with the other and nimbly wrapping you in a blanket, cradling you to his chest. “Go to sleep, little one.”

The harsh light of the gilded lamp on the bedside table flicked on and you opened one eye to greet it with a squint. “And what are you doing?”

“Reading for a while,” Tommy said, kissing your hairline. “Need you to be asleep first anyway.”

With both eyes open you looked up at him, grinning stupidly and blushing. “You need to know I’m asleep before you can sleep?”

Tommy glared down at you, grumbling and looking back to the book he was resting on your ass, opening it to the dog-eared page. “Yes. Now go to sleep, I’m tired.”

Breaking your hazy grin to plant kisses to his neck, you pulled the blanket tight around your shoulders and settled onto Tommy’s chest peacefully, falling into the deepest sleep you’d had since the first night you’d spent in his arms.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It sad. Thank you for all who have read and continue to read, leave comments, messages, kudos, whatever. I appreciate you all so much, and it is an honor to write for you. Part IV will be up sometime in the (probably distant) future, but in the meantime, happy sinning!

“Tommyyy-”

A pause before a sigh, “Yes?”

“I’m bored.”

“I know, princess.”

Groaning, you rolled your eyes and lolled your head back in your chair, pushing your bare foot into Tommy’s desk to propel yourself into spin. The ceiling of the betting shop whirled into a rusty kaleidoscope of sunlit brick.

“No more work to do?”

“Clearly,” you said, louder than you thought, your tone filled with more wispy irritation than you’d intended.

The displeased growl of Tommy clearing his throat made you grab the desk’s edge with your foot to stop your twirling, and you waited until Tommy stopped spinning in your vision to shoot his incredulous face your best smile. But his raised brows didn’t fall any closer to his glasses, so you had to supplement.

“Sorry,” you said seriously, without a trace of whining, “I’m just-”

“Bored?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Tommy continued, squinting at you in a vaguely threatening manner before moving his attention back to his paperwork, “you know the situation. Not for much longer, love.”

“Yes,” you repeated, pushing off the desk again and rolling your eyes only when the back of your head was to him. “I know the situation.”

You pretended not to hear his tutting.

It had only been two weeks and three days that you’d been stuck in Small Heath, and you had no idea how you’d lived in Birmingham your whole life without fleeing for anywhere else.

Three windows had been shattered at the Arrow House with various things missing, the most ominous being a pillow - the pillow that you slept on, taken from your side of the bed, Tommy’s left alone. Blessedly, you and Tommy had been out, with Charlie and Ruby staying in Lizzie’s house for the week. But even with no one hurt and little damage done, you were shaken at both the message sent and how easily it had been accomplished.

The patrol who constantly watched the Arrow house had been paid off, a foolish choice on their part. You knew Tommy well enough to know that he hadn’t received admittance of their betrayal by simply asking. You hadn’t seen them since, and you hadn’t asked why.

The point made that the gangs trying desperately to unseat Tommy from his throne would do whatever it took to do so, Tommy had ordered the family to Small Heath; back to intricate streets they knew by heart, full of people who would be a soldier for Tommy and the Peaky Blinders without needing to be swayed.

Even though he was more stressed than you’d ever seen him, running a family, businesses, and a war all at once, Tommy hadn’t spent a moment neglecting you or pushing you away. The agreement you’d made after your fight mere weeks ago had held true, Tommy leaving nothing out as he told you about each enemy and every move they’d made as well as the plans he was carefully laying out in response. Not many others had the same privilege of Tommy’s good graces, however, his temper worse than ever and his patience next to nothing.

But Tommy had clutched you tightly every night since you’d relocated to Small Heath, sharing his bedroom on Watery Lane, neither of you disturbed by the smaller space. He woke you often in the middle of the night, pressing his lips to any patch of skin that he could, and danger couldn’t possibly invade your thoughts when he did. It made you wonder what things would be like, when this fight for Tommy’s crown was over, and where it would leave you.

How Tommy had achieved his status and power had never been a secret to you, but you had always viewed the perils of his past to be something far behind him. But even as they now swirled around you, displacing your life as well as threatening it, more than ever were you happy to be at Tommy’s side. You loved him, the feeling taking up more room inside of you than you ever imagined it could. Foolish perhaps, but from what you’d heard love was reserved for the fools. Finding the courage to tell him was a different matter, so for now you expressed your love by being at his side.

But being in Small Heath had left you with a very limited map of acceptable - safe - places you could spend your time while Tommy was busy seeking vengeance and doling out retribution. Seemingly never alone anymore, you were accompanied about that map with a physical manifestation of Tommy’s fear and possessiveness: a security detail that appeared to only grow, Tommy unable to decide when enough men were enough men. Any conversation about removing it - or at least making it smaller - were met with icy eyes of warning and a clenched jaw, and so you tolerated it. Albeit with gritted teeth.

Propelling yourself once more off Tommy’s desk, you brought your thoughts back to where you spun, catching the last moments of Scudboat’s knowing smirk at your rolling eyes from outside the glass windows of Tommy’s office. Sending him a vulgar gesture, you completed another turn of the chair before you stopped, dropping your feet to the floor and watching the top of Tommy’s handsome head, admiring the sunshine glinting of his glasses, the gold garters at the bottom of his biceps competing for your attention. You smiled softly at his serious face, a small crinkle in between his furrowed brows as he read over paperwork that he was trying to keep up with in the midst of his war.

With a bounce you abandoned your seat and rounded Tommy’s desk, lifting one of his muscled arms and plopping into his lap.

Tommy, although looking far more amused than before, still sighed as you threw your arms around his neck. “Y/N, I’m busy-”

“I know, I know,” you said, “Michael and I are about to go out anyway. I just wanted to tell you that-” you pressed kisses into his sharp and shaven cheeks, “ - I appreciate you.”

“Do you now?” Tommy lilted in his husky sarcasm, allowing as much of a smile that he would allow in an office where anyone could see its boyish corners.

“You think I don’t?” you acted aghast, clapping a hand on your heart and curling the other into the opening in Tommy’s pinstriped shirt where he’d removed his tie, your fingers dragging into the smattering of hair beneath. “What must I do, Thomas Shelby?”

Imperceptibly did Tommy soften with a growing smile, leaning back so he could rest his hands on your waist with more ardor, squeezing slightly. “Not a thing. And I appreciate you, princess.”

“I know,” you chirped, resuming your kisses down the column of Tommy’s neck.

Tommy pressed his face into your hair and breathed, running a broad hand up and down your back. You hummed in contentment and shut your eyes, the warm smoky scent of Tommy’s cologned skin sending you into a trance.

“Where are you off to, then?” Tommy asked, slowing sliding his hand down to your ass and squeezing, those eyes simmering when you winced in response. Being cooped up and bored had come with more than enough bratty behavior for Tommy and he had been more than happy to correct it, bruises from both his belt and his rings blooming on your backside.

It took all of your will to keep the roll from your eyes at the sound of Tommy’s protective tone, one you’d grown all too acquainted with. “Where do you think?”

Curling his fingers so half-moons dug into you, Tommy pressed into your hip bone as you tried to wiggle away with a pained squeal, smirking down at you.

“The Garrison!” you gasped, smacking at his arm and giggling at your own struggle.

“Mm,” Tommy hummed, releasing you and watching your lips, rubbing his thumb in soft circles on your cheek, “Good. Be safe, alright? Both of you.”

“I wasn’t aware there was another option,” you said, tilting your head to the detail of men that waited so close their breath could have fogged up the glass between them and you.

Tommy furrowed his brows, nodding with a mixture of seriousness and something you couldn’t decipher, rocking you forward slightly so he could reach the gilded cigarette case on his desk. Staying silent, he lit one for himself and ignored your pout.

“Not too late, alright? And nowhere else but the Garrison.”

You batted your eyelashes and played with Tommy’s collar as you tested the waters, “Well, we were thinking if we went out to-”

“No.”

“Tommy, Digbeth isn’t far - ”

“I said, no.” Without any trace of sensual threat or teasing, Tommy held your face in his hand with a firm squeeze and shook his head. “Not past Coventry road.”

Bristling more than you would have liked, you bit back a retort and sucked your teeth behind your lips, for you knew your safety was a deciding point of Tommy’s sanity these days. Watching you battle with yourself, Tommy pleaded, a glaze coming over his eyes that you knew was made of ghosts, a look you’d been seeing more than once a day.

“Please,” he muttered, his grip loosening to let his roughened knuckles stroke your cheek. “Promise me.”

Leaning into his hand and closing your eyes, you shifted in Tommy’s lap so you could wrap your arms around him again, sparing one hand from his muscled back to trace the silvered hairline of his high temples. You knew Tommy was waiting for you to answer him, but you couldn’t help but admire him for a second longer. This was all temporary, you reminded yourself, and so you pressed your lips to his, murmuring against them, “I promise.”

Broad hands encompassing nearly your entire face, Tommy held your head still and kissed you again before flicking one of your hanging earrings, one of his many gifts.

“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing you again before pulling away. “Not too late, eh?”

Swearing, you groaned and leaned away from his grasp, “Tommyy-”

Your protest barely escaped before Tommy tightened his hand on your face again, not needing words to warn you when he had his eyes to do it for him. Making an escape before the bruises on your ass could be further worsened, you pushed against Tommy’s grip and smashed your lips to his with a smack, wriggling from his grip. Sure to grind your ass against him before you spun off his lap, you bounced for the door and ignored the growl behind you. Looking back to blow Tommy a kiss, your bruises pulsed in response to his sharp smirk and clicking tongue, and you shut the door before you found yourself in his lap again.

Baring a smirk of your own at the looks on the face’s Tommy’s men, you dared them to say something, twirling your scarf around your neck and stealing the cigarette Michael was about to light from between his fingers.

“Ready?” you asked, wiggling your brows.

“Not hungry anymore,” Michael grumbled, “but I definitely need a drink. Just as badly as Tommy needs to get some bloody blinds.”

You tilted your head, silently thanking whoever was listening that alcohol existed, even if you were now forced to drink it in the same room of the same pub, day after day.

“You’re telling me.”

*****************************

“Come on!”

“You’ll fuck up the gears.”

“‘You’ll fuck up the gears’” you mocked Michael’s low voice. “Come on, let me drive it!”

“You whine when you’re breaking the law.”

Smacking his arm with your cigarette-free hand, you proceeded to grumble, “I’m not breaking the law.”

Michael sighed, his carefully coiffed hair shining in the lackluster January day. “We - you - aren’t supposed to be out here.”

An exceptionally true statement, you gave up your squabble and looked out the window at the bare trees flying by in a blur of ash-colored winter. With your thumbnail in your mouth, you contemplated.

“Well, Polly asked you to come out to make the delivery.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, and you ignored the feeling of him glancing at you, “and you weren’t supposed to come.”

Also exceptionally true, your thumbnail remained in your mouth and your eyes remained out the window.

You’d promised Tommy not to leave Small Heath, and you didn’t feel like a person in love with that broken promise on your shoulders, one that would drive Tommy mad with worry if he knew. But it had seemed a fateful convenience, a message being sent to the Garrison for Michael to visit the Gold’s camp with a package unspecified. Not far enough from Birmingham that you would be missed, is what you told yourself. And you had to admit, all guilt aside, it felt good that the air in your nose smelled of trees and not soot, your hair whipping around your face as you sped further off the edge of Tommy’s map.

Michael turned off the main road, driving until the tires sunk into mud. Going on through the muck would mean being stuck for more hours than you could afford, so when Michael got out you did too. Not thinking of your heels sinking into the wet clay beneath them, you followed him until he turned to you, cigarette smoke pluming from his lips.

“Wait here.”

“Why?” you asked, not waiting for a response. “I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want Tommy to take one of my fingers off.”

Scoffing, you shoved down the possible truth in Michael’s statement. “He won’t even know I came with you, remember? Can’t very well clip them off then, can he?”

Michael’s slate eyes glared at you before rolling. “Fine. Come on.”

“And how do you know the way?” you asked, voice rising to reach him as he plowed ahead of you.

“Don’t ask.”

It was your own turn to roll your eyes, Michael’s Tommy-like maneuvers making you feel like you’d never left Small Heath at all.

The forest around you was quiet as you two waded through the ferns, coming finally to an even muddier path that had wagons’ ruts carved into it, a tale of not one caravan but many, a mess that the Bentley would never had made it through unless it ran on irony.

The clearing was thick with grass but still managed to look barren, trying its hardest despite the creeping of early winter and the wear of travelling families across it. The caravans reminded you of the horses in the fields behind the Arrow House when it rained: clustered just at the very edge of the trees, dark and solid, waiting patiently.

Michael unabashedly avoided the tree line and carried on across the foggy clearing, the particular cluster of caravans he was headed towards made clearer by each step he took. Unwilling to be left behind on this day of independence, you followed him and matched his pace the best you could.

Receiving slaps on the back accompanied by laughter-filled greetings, or tight nods of the head with tense faces to match, Michael worked his way back into the forest and you stayed close behind. Children ran between your legs making you stop short with a smile, their little strides trying desperately to run out of earshot from the mothers calling and swearing after them in a rebellious game of familial tag. 

It looked colder than it felt but you were still glad you had the warmth of your coat and scarf, the grey mist of the forest having an edge of winter to it. Reaching the back of the camp, Michael turned and signaled that you should wait with a wave of a hand before disappearing up three stairs into an ornate caravan and leaving you alone.

Rubbing your arms unconsciously and shivering, you realized that you were completely out of your element. Risking a glance around and attempting to look nonchalant, you smiled at the feeling the camps held, warm and familial: the low-burning fires and clusters of people talking around them, music weaving their conversations together, the scent of cooking meat and moss in the air. Unsure of what to do with yourself, you were glad to see Aberama strolling into your vision, his vague nod towards you nearly imperceptible before he skipped two stairs and followed after Michael into the caravan. The direction from which Aberama came held two of his daughters, standing on the very edge of the fog and glaring at you, a shadowed shape of another caravan a ways behind them. Flicking your eyes away from them before you smirked an expression that Tommy would surely hear about, you looked back to the fires, their warmth inviting as the forest damp began to set into your bones.

But now you felt watched, your presence no longer going unnoticed. Awkwardly shifting in your heels and fiddling with your earrings, thoughts both paranoid and intuitive made you sure that you’d become the hushed subject of more than one of the clusters that talked by the fires.

Blushing and removing yourself from as many pairs of eyes that you could manage, you circled around the caravan Michael had entered and sat on the steps of it’s abandoned-looking neighbor that sat a stone’s throw away, offset from the rest. You let the quiet peace of the woods win over the chatter behind you, and you wondered why Tommy didn’t escape here more. A glow that looked as if it couldn’t possibly belong to winter lit up the bare trees as the sun finally fought its way through the clouds and you closed your eyes, grateful for the warmth on your face.

“Tea?”

A moment passed before you realized the wisp of a voice was addressing you. Whirling around, you squinted upwards against the light at the shape who had emerged from the caravan that you had decided to sit on, and you shot upright, sputtering in embarrassment.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I thought no one lived here, and I -”

“No, I think you just wanted tea. And even if you don’t, I do, and it’ll be awhile until the men are done being men.”

The hunched frame of a woman formulated before your adjusting eyes, covered in winter layers of shawls that looked heavy enough to be causing the bow in her back. The bright clarity of her deep eyes showed a far younger age than the endless wrinkles on her skin, and although they were warm and kind, you had a sense that she was another stranger who knew your name.

“It’s cold dearie, come on then,” she said, arching a darkly penciled brow when you didn’t budge. “Afraid of something?”

“Erm, no,” you replied, voice a pitch too high and trailing off as you stood and followed her in, sticking your gloves in your pocket, “Not afraid.”

Before you could take in her home she reached a small hand for you, clearing her throat before asking, “Help me down onto that chair will you? Can’t ease down gracefully much anymore.”

As strong as her grip was, your mysterious host felt like she was made of paper and china, and you exhaled only once you’d navigated her safely across the rug and into a cushioned chair where she let out a tired sigh of her own.

Warm in both look and feel, the room immediately made you sleepy. Candles fastened to wood shelves by their spilled over wax lined the spaces that weren’t filled with books, heirlooms or jars of herbs. A makeshift kitchen lined one wall while a built-in bed lined the other, accented only by a bare, rickety table and a pair of chairs. The seat that wasn’t occupied had a particularly plush looking purple cushion, and after sitting your bruises on the cold wood of the stairs it beckoned you to take a rest upon it.

“Running away from Thomas for the day, or for longer than that?”

Mouth suddenly too dry to stutter, you were glad when raised a knobbled finger towards the tiny stove that had been worked into the kitchen side of the caravan.

“Put your lips together dear, you look like a fish. Light a match under that, put the kettle on top.”

Doing as she asked in an robotic fashion, you scrambled your brain for rebuttals to questions she had yet to ask but you were sure would come. Settling the teapot on the grate of the stove, you turned and wrung your hands, silently looking for teacups.

“To the left,” the woman creaked, coughing heavily after answering your silent question. Turning away from her bout of respiratory distress, you blocked out the sound in attempt to give her privacy in the tiny space and found the cabinet she directed you to, pulling the decorated wooden door and finding two chipped mugs, pretty roses around their edges.

With no more distractions to fill your time, you wiped your clammy hands on the silk of your dress and sat across from the woman who seemed to wither by the minute.

“What’s your name?” you asked, and you cursed yourself for a not having a better question.

“Beth. Boswell. Madame, if you don’t mind.”

Your lips parted again. “Beth? You’re not -”

“The Shelby’s mother? Don’t be daft, girl. Jesus.”

Justifiably shamed, you said nothing. If Polly hadn’t let the first name of her sister-in-law slip one night over some gin, you never would have known, you thought. Mysteriously finding a cigarette from somewhere within the folds of her clothes, Madame Boswell lit the black cloven stick, the wrinkles on her face deepening as she watched the match shake.

Feeling undeniably stupid and more out of place than before, you merely sat and waited for either the water to boil or for Madame Boswell speak, whichever came first. It was the latter.

“He’ll know you were here, you know,” she said, a half-smile and a twinkle in her eye, smoke curling up towards the dark wood of the ceiling.

“And?” you retorted, not as amused as she. Caught off guard twice and now feeling on trial for your broken promise, your grace began to waver and you blustered stupidly, “It wasn’t on purpose.”

Madame Boswell chuckled, “Wasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” you tilted your head and asked as politely as you could, the water beginning to hum within the kettle behind you, “do you want something from me?”

With a soft smile Madame Boswell shook her head, tearing her knowing eyes from yours. “No, dear. I’m just as bored as you. Waiting to die, and all that.”

Blessedly, the tea whistled and you rose quickly to avoid either responding or laughing. The kettle’s song faded into a low croon as you hurried it off the stove, and you reached back into the cabinet for the pouch of tea leaves, still biting back a giggle.

“He’ll never marry you, you know,” came her raspy voice from behind you, coughing a few more times to punctuate her sentence. Laughter gone and blinking rapidly, you committed absolute focus to pouring the steaming water into its chipped teacups, glad Madame Boswell couldn’t see your face.

“I don’t care about that,” you said carefully, quietly, watching the tea leaves turn the water darker, waiting for the dark clumps to disappear in the murk.

“Don’t you? Care, I mean?” she asked, snorting in disbelief. “I would, if I were you.” Avoiding her eyes, you set the tea on the table, which she sipped with a nod of approval, and you felt her mindful eyes on your back as you busied yourself with putting things away. “It was me he came to, after Grace.”

An icy wave rippled outwards from your chest and stiffened your muscles, but with it was with certainty that you shook your head quickly. “I don’t want to know this, Madame Boswell.” Turning towards her, you leaned against the cool side of the stove, trying your best to keep your face kind. “With all due respect, I don’t think you should be the one to tell m-”

“Oh hush it, not my place to tell you what was said.” She gave you a look, voice dropping low to match her furrowed brows, “But you should know he won’t let you in, girl. Don’t tell me you don’t think about it.”

“He has - let me in,” you scoffed, unconcerned for respecting your - or Tommy’s - elders. “Besides, I hardly think you know what I’m thinking. He tells me everything.”

Madame Boswell just looked at you calmly, seemingly respecting your ability to bite back. “How long will you put up with that idea?”

Your shoulders rolled and your upper lip stiffened. “It’s not something that I ‘put up’ with, it’s-”

“Do you know Tommy?”

“I love him,” you blurted instantly in defense, ignoring the wrinkled arching of Madame Boswell’s brows as well as her knowing gaze. Standing in a room that felt like it could have been a chamber of Tommy’s heart, a room and a life and a side of a family that flourished on the other side of the gilded curtain Tommy had hung for you, you chewed your cheek and lied. “I know everything that I want - need - to know.

Madame Boswell opened her mouth to retort but then shook her head, looking out the stained glass of the wagon’s door, “You don’t. What’s going on is more dangerous than you know, girl. Tommy locks you up to protect himself as much as you, and you should mind him. If you love him, that is.”

“Is that why you dragged me in here? To lecture me?” you snapped, setting your tea down and hoping Michael was almost done.

“Ha! Dragged you?” Madame Boswell laughed a cracked laugh, coughing again and smiling all the while. “Wouldn’t say that. There’s the door if you want to go. Think what you will, just thought you should know.”

Truly, you were tired of people springing undesirable things about Tommy on you that they ‘thought you should know’.

Pushing up from her chair, grumbling and waving you off as you rose to help her, the old woman’s joints popped as she crossed the small space to pour herself another cup of tea, her frail hands surprisingly graceful with the heavy iron kettle.

Asking yourself why you were continuing this conversation, you mindlessly admired the pattern on Madame Boswell’s dress and said quietly, “I want him to come to me.”

“He won’t, Y/N,” Madame Boswell’s voice was more of a croak as she drew out the sound of a name you’d never told her, although it didn’t surprise you that she knew it. “And I hear what the men talk about, what Tommy’s gotten himself into, and you girl, need to ask yourself if he’s worth it.”

Two halves of you fought, one snarling in fierce defense of Tommy while the other was warned into silence. Michael calling your name interrupted them both.

“Go on then -” she waved at the door in response to your indecisive silence, chuckling out her words, “go, you’ll sort it out.”

Michael called your name again with more urgency and you stood, fidgeting with your coat. “I appreciate your…hospitality.”

“Don’t lie to me now when you’ll thank me later.” Half laughing and half coughing, Madame Boswell turned to you with her bright eyes, “You were on my list of people to talk to before I depart, so I think it’s me that should be thanking you, mm?”

Smiling weakly at her morbid and cryptic comment, you nodded at her and moved through the door, leaving the sweet smell of the caravan behind as well as its warmth. Michael greeted you with a brow cocked in amused inquiry when you emerged, stepping down the stairs and into the leaves.

“Oh and girl,” Madame Boswell called after you, and you stopped to turn to her, her face in shadow behind the screen of her wooden door. “If you don’t know where to start, ask him about the sapphire.”

******************************

There were facets of Tommy that you had accepted you’d never need to meet, that you never could meet. As your relationship had begun you had never thought to question what had made him who he was, who you loved. Carefully chosen words from Polly and Ada told you that Tommy hadn’t always been made of steel and power, and you knew that you would never meet the Tommy that laughed and loved before the war, before other things.

But there was needing and there was wanting, and truthfully it had been long before Madame Boswell gave you her eerily accurate advice that you had dared to wonder. To wonder about all the things you didn’t know about Tommy, the good as well as the bad, or if the parts of you that you shared with him- things about your family, your fears and pains - he would ever share with you.

But more than ever you knew it wasn’t the time. If it wasn’t the time to express how you felt to Tommy, it certainly wasn’t the time to start prying at the cracks he’d let you close enough to peek through.

The car puttered down a different road back to Birmingham than the one you’d driven out of it. You’d told Michael everything - as you often did these days - but had found that when it came to love, Michael was more like Tommy.

“Grace was an accident,” you said quietly having been thinking about that distant incident more often than you liked, for you knew that shattering day was helping to stir Tommy’s protectiveness - and shorten his temper.

“Less of an accident then you think. And now it’s you playing the part.”

“What part?” you responded, “The ‘in love with Tommy’ part? Or the ‘in fatal danger’ part?”

Michael said nothing, and you were sure his cousin would act the same in the face of questions like those - as if you would ever ask them.

You didn’t have an answer to your questions either, you could only hope those two parts of being in Tommy’s life weren’t intertwined. Whether it was paranoia or a touch of otherworldly omniscience that Madame Boswell’s influence left you with, you felt as if the only person who knew the answer was there, pressing her hand against the veil between you. You wished you could ask her instead of Michael.

Tommy’s age never bothered you, but yours was starting to. It made you angry, that you hadn’t noticed Tommy’s evasiveness, his omissions. You felt foolish, having been blissfully and naively happy to listen to Tommy’s plans, relieve his stress, and nothing more. Accepting gifts, arching your back to his touch, drinking down every word he had chosen to share with you as if it were liquid gold. Never wanting to push him about the war, about Grace, about all the years of his life before you’d entered it, you’d been an easily entertained and impressed doll. Everything you’d never wanted to be to Tommy you now felt like you’d become, and it was your own fault.

Trying to both calm yourself down and stop the seeds Madame Boswell had planted from running rampant, you looked out the window at the trees flying by, thinking aloud, “Is what happened to Grace going to happen to every woman in Thomas’ life then? Is his role cursed or am I -”

“He thinks it is, yeah,” Michael said suddenly, and his tone pulled your eyes from the blurring forest, “And maybe that’s something you should take into consideration.”

Surprised, you sat up straight and looked at the cleanly handsome profile of Michael’s face. “I do take it into consideration.”

“Then why are you asking?

“Because people want to kill me,” you retorted. Michael’s jaw set, and with pursed lips you looked forward out onto the muddy road, the edges of Birmingham distantly coming into focus on the horizon.

“Listen,” Michael continued more softly, passing you the remaining half of his cigarette before lighting another one. You arched a brow. “Tommy isn’t going to show you - or anyone else - that room. I’d shut the door on it.”

Inhaling smoothly, you stayed mute in agreement. You knew Michael didn’t mean a literal room, but merely one of Tommy’s many coffins, nailed shut and shoved deep enough to convince him that he’d forgotten. You couldn’t help but think of the warm semblance of the camp you’d just left behind, and as you increasingly tried to picture a version of Tommy that would be content there - that was related to them at all - you couldn’t come up with one. Not one that you knew, at least.

“But you won’t do that,” Michael said in response to your silence.

Huffing, irritated at how well people knew you when you apparently didn’t know yourself, you looked back out the window, letting your eyes glaze over the trees. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Don’t know what to tell you, Y/N,” Michael replied quietly. Although done with the conversation, still spoke to you softly as he flicked his cigarette out the window. “Let’s go back to the Garrison, yeah? Talk to Ada about it later.”

Nodding, you steadied your breath and watched the trees once more, chin in your hand, thoughts drifting to ghosts and all the things they would tell you if they could speak, Michael’s words fading away.

“Or my mum. Think even Arthur would be better than me.”

**************************************

Once the night grew darker the guilt had crept in, and you’d done your best to drown it.

The whiskey had helped to numb Madame Boswell’s words, and you had melted as soon as you’d seen Tommy, eventually joining you and Michael in the snug, his brothers and other blinders in tow. Nothing but cold air and raging triumph from fighting rolled into the snug with them, and if Tommy had discovered your forbidden venture he didn’t show it. Fierce eyes going soft at the sight of you, their corners crinkling slightly, no trace of anger or threatening promise in his tone or in the occasional kisses he pressed to your cheek. The crisp scent of the cold air mixed in with his cologne and smelled more like home than any house ever could, and so you’d ignored your guilt and let yourself fall into Tommy as the night raged on. You knew that what you had done - and what you’d started to feel - couldn’t be buried, but for tonight you were just happy to have his arm lazily slung around your shoulder and his gravelly voice in your ear, making you laugh. 

But it had been hard to ignore, the look in Tommy’s eyes when you asked if he was alright on the walk home, fires blooming out in bursts from the factories setting his delicately devilish face alight. A curated answer came and went, vague and reassuring, not matching the haunted look that peeked through when the whiskey glaze slipped. He’d told you of the day’s events, each detail soaked in blood, every detail shared except for the reason why his hand had been shaking beneath the table of the snug, Tommy trying to flex calm into it each time he kissed you, thinking your eyes were shut. 

Sometimes forgetting could be a conscious act, and so you chose to forget your day and the locked rooms of Tommy’s heart, letting him carry you up the stairs of 6 Watery Lane, the zipper of your dress already half down; chose to forget about your broken promise as soon as his bedroom door shut behind you, to forget about what your future would or would not hold with Tommy as he laid you down on his bed. By the time your breaths were heavy and your hands had finished with the buttons of Tommy’s shirt you’d forgotten everything you’d wanted to.

Running your nails lightly down the short hair on the back of his head, you waited for Tommy to clutch at you with his usual feral grip. Your body thrummed with impatience for his hands to push you this way and that, for his whispers to come hot in your ear to tell you what he wanted and just what he liked.

But none of his usual ferocity came, Tommy curling into you and breathing with even effort, arms wrapped around you, cradling the back of your head with his face in your neck, kissing the spot of skin you always dripped perfume onto. Hungry and not wanting to wait for his beasts to wake up, you began to slide off his lap where you sat on the edge of the bed, moving down his legs with your mouth already watering, sliding your palm over his cock as you started to move to your knees.

“No,” Tommy whispered, his voice so low it almost broke, “Stay here.”

Pausing in surprise at the softness in his voice before you let your eyes drift shut at the comfort of it, you obeyed him. Tommy dragged you back into his lap, the bands of muscle in his arms tightening around you. Brushing your nose against his, you slid your arms around his neck, whispering his name. Making no move to take you, Tommy just held you and breathed in time with your rhythm, trailing a single finger up and down your spine.

Your eyes pricked at his gentleness and you so you kept your shadowed lids shut to push the tears back, tracing the taut muscles of Tommy’s back. The scar from the war’s bullet pinched his freckled skin into a warped twirl and you ran your finger in a circle around it as if you could coax out its story, kissing up Tommy’s neck until you reached the sharp angle of his jaw.

“Tommy -” you whispered, words coming up that couldn’t be stopped, “Are you alright? After today?”

The sudden stiffness of his back could have been imagined with how quickly it disappeared, Tommy pulling your hand from where it traced his scar and kissing your fingers before your lips.

“I am now, eh?”

Before you could respond Tommy kissed you, flicking his tongue against your lips, a rough hand tightening on your waist. Hazy with love and liquor - or just easily seduced - you sighed in happy surrender, allowing Tommy’s tongue entry so it could dance with yours.

Breathing deeper with every pass of the calloused hand Tommy ran up and down your leg, you let out the quietest sigh you could as he shifted his hips upwards into yours, his marble-hard length grinding against you right where you needed it most.

The familiar movements of his tongue against yours lulled you into a bliss that started to blur your edges, your hips rolling helplessly against him, his clothed hardness pushing against your clit deliciously. Every inch of your skin burned with no mind to the January night, fire fanned by every one of Tommy’s breaths in your ear as you kissed his chest, your fingers entangled in the long hair on top of his head.

Growing impatient, Tommy merely hooked a finger in your lingerie and pulled it to the side, kissing your moan quiet when he pressed his fingers against your clit. You were already soaking and he made sure to tell you so, slipping a finger in and out of you, your arms going slack around his neck.

“Tommy,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of merely one of his fingers, already so on edge you weren’t sure if you could take another. 

Tommy just shushed you, holding his lips an inch from yours and playing with you until your whimpers were shaking with need. Without any of Tommy’s usual satisfied smirking he kissed you again, feather-light and reverent across your cheekbones, on your swollen lips, behind your ear. Pushing another finger into you, his palm against your clit, Tommy just watched you struggle to stay quiet, the icy blue of his eyes nothing but a slim ring under half-lids.

Lips parted, he pressed them against your ear, “Just like that, love. Are you going to come for me?”

With nearly all parts of you floating through the clouds, you tried your best to answer him, voice cracking as he brought both his fingers to your throbbing clit, rubbing gently.

“No,” you murmured nonsensically, “on you, Tommy, you.”

“On my cock? Is that what you want, eh?” Tommy cooed to you, teasing you with his fingers and scraping the jeweled lobe of your ear with his teeth.

“Yes,” you gasped, thinking of nothing else but Tommy inside of you, your hips rolling into his fingers. “Please, Tommy.”

Pulling his fingers from you, Tommy watched your face as he slid them between your lips, still holding your lingerie to the side in wait. You cleaned your wetness from his fingers, eyes shut but knowing just where the last buttons were that had to be undone, pulling Tommy’s length from his pants and running both hands over him as he liked, the dry silkiness of him making you whine around his fingers.

Keeping you held tight in his lap, Tommy easily lifted you and pulled you impossibly closer, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your wetness, murmuring against your lips. It was slow and needy all at once, Tommy’s face going slack with his forehead pressed against yours as he pushed inside of you, settling your hips back down into his lap, filling you up. Not bothering to try and be quiet, you let a broken moan roll from your throat at the feeling of it, your tightness pulsing around him. Tommy carefully brought your legs around his waist, groaning into your mouth when you locked your ankles at the small of his back, pulling yourself onto his cock and arching him deeper.

Cradling you to him while beginning to roll his cock in and out of you, Tommy tore his lips from yours to press them against your ear, whispering to you about just how good you felt, the bed creaking beneath you as he sped his thrusts. But as your moans grew higher with need Tommy brought his face back to yours, your noses brushing with each upward stroke of his length.

“It’ll be over soon,” he whispered against your lips and you knew he wasn’t talking about the burning pleasure of his cock inside of you; you weren’t even sure he was talking to you at all. Tommy spread a broad hand across your cheek, his thumb evenly brushing your lower lip despite his growing fervor, “I promise.”

Guilt bled black inside your chest, but you still meant every word you breathed, “I know, Tommy, I trust you.”

Tommy breathed out a shaky breath, and as he moved you up and down you let your fingertips trail his carefully carved cheekbones, letting your eyes drift shut. As if that was a cue, Tommy held you tight and started to fuck you harder, pulling a moan from your lips with every thrust. You held onto him and let your orgasm build, sinking your teeth into his neck until he growled, snaking a hand into your hair and pulling until your face was before his.

But there were no demons burning in his eyes, the hand in your hair loosening, and with lips parted and eyes half-lidded he kissed your whimpers quiet, the damp sheen of your skins catching the light of the dying fire as Tommy fucked you closer to the edge, his own rhythm starting to stutter.

“Come for me,” Tommy whispered, each stroke of him seemingly thicker and stronger with each passing moment, and the sound of your name from his lips Tommy’s lips was more of a begging, for what you didn’t know.

“Tommy,” you managed, voice no stronger than a feather, Tommy stifling any response by bringing his fingers to your clit. Even the jarringly cool metal of one of Tommy’s rings against your hot skin was lost in your undoing, fire ripping down every nerve as you came. Tommy purred to you as you soaked his cock with your orgasm, a low moan rumbling into your ear as he followed close behind, coming inside of you and digging his nails into the bruises on your ass, the pain sending an aftershock of lust through your muscles.

Both of you panted into each other’s necks, the scent of whiskey swirling between you as Tommy resumed the trailing of his finger up and down your spine, leaving chills behind its light touch. Already sinking your head into Tommy’s neck, you felt his small smile against your forehead, his lips on your skin. “Tired, little one?”

“Mm,” you mumbled, your muscles slack in his arms, the worries of your day staying quiet. Tommy kissed your forehead once more before sliding his cock out of you, smirking at your groan of complaint and sliding off the lingerie either of you had been too impatient to remove, tossing it to the floor. Keeping you in his arms as he stood, he made sure your legs were still tight around his waist while he kicked his pants off, only unwinding your legs from him once you were safely settled upon the pillows.

Curling into the quilt Tommy slept under as a child, the warm colors and patterns fighting off the bite of winter nights that seeped in through the window panes, you burrowed into the crook of Tommy’s neck and breathed him in. The sheets smelled of not just Tommy, but you too, the two weeks spent sleeping and loving and talking having laced a new scent into the bed on Watery Lane.

Eyes drooping as they always did when you were cradled against Tommy’s chest like this, the warmth of the bed and Tommy’s hands stroking your back began to lull you to sleep.

“Y/N?” Tommy whispered, all rasp and velvet making it sound like a dream, which you weren’t sure if it was or not. But you didn’t get a chance to find out, asleep before you could hear him say your name once more.

***************

One would think peace and quiet would be easy to find, with each day more monotonous than the last. The only place you could be alone anymore, if you played your cards right, was Tommy’s office. And with as long as it had taken you to shed your security detail to get there, you earned the silence.

Spinning in Tommy’s chair, you held the small letter over your head, the paper changing from cream to gold as the sunlight illuminated it, the ink a stark black shadow. Blowing a curl from your eye, you watched it spin above your head and smiled to yourself.

Boredom had nearly forced you to write your mother back, at long last, and you two had been exchanging letters rapidly, your mother sending nearly two a day since you’d been back in Birmingham. Judgement seemingly gone from her voice - or her pen, you should say - you had let yourself truthfully miss her and the rest of your family, and the feeling wasn’t an unwelcome one.

The pattern and weight of Tommy’s footsteps started distantly and grew louder on the worn wood of the betting shop and you smiled softly, glad to hear them regardless of your inner turmoil, your hangover this morning having been more emotional than whiskey-driven. You didn’t bother to stop your spins upon Tommy’s entry while you continued to contemplate, blindly blowing him a kiss and reading your mother’s letter once more.

“Mum wrote today,” Distracted, you didn’t notice his silence and you sat up, setting your chin in your hand upon Tommy’s desk. “She wants to meet for tea.”

“No.”

“What?” you laughed, looking up and foolishly expecting to find Tommy doing the same. But he wasn’t, back to you and broad shoulders stiff as he sorted through the post, the silver in his hair catching the light as he turned his head slightly from pile to pile.

“You won’t leave again. Not until I say.”

Again.

“Tommy,” you stuttered, for you’d at least hope the bruises on your ass would be gone before he’d find out and want to place new ones, “yesterday was -”

“We’ll talk about your little trip later. I have work to do.”

His tone was not one of playful promise.

Struck dumb, you watched as Tommy removed his jacket and lit a cigarette, each movement tight, quick, and as purposeful as his effort to avoid looking at you as he settled into his office. Madame Boswell’s words rang in your head, but you went on for your own sake, caring not for the long-dead reasons why Tommy needed to lock you up like a precious doll.

“It’s my mother, Thomas. I’m going to see her. It’s not your business-”

“To keep you safe?” Tommy asked, still avoiding your gaze and huffing with dismissiveness, heading towards you with enough intensity that you stood and vacated his chair, moving out from behind his desk. “Yes, Y/N, that is my business, due to the fact it seems to be no concern of your own.”

Your eyes widening, you incredulously watched him begin to go through paperwork, even though he had yet to sit. “Surely, Thomas, you don’t honestly think you can tell me that I can’t get tea with my own mother.”

“You don’t know it’s her that will be there.”

“Tommy,” you let out an exasperated laugh, pushing your fingers against your shut eyelids. “That is mad. And I am going.”

“You lied to me.”

Finally, he looked at you. Ice cold and unimpressed, Tommy looked as if there wasn’t a soul inside of him at all.

However, chagrined, it was you who avoided his gaze now as you fumbled for an excuse. “I know, Tommy, and I’m sorry, but you don’t understand. I’m bored -” you cringed at your failure to stop your poor choice of words, Tommy’s arched brows shooting up.

“Bored? Do you always lie and break promises, when you get bored?” he nearly spat the last word, and you flinched at his anger. “You know things no one else knows!” Tommy said, voice rising, swiping his glasses off and throwing them onto his desk where they landed with a faint ring, “And you have everything you need. What else do you want, eh? Do you understand what could have happened to you?”

“Nothing is going to happen to me Tommy,” you tried, “those things aren’t going to happen to me.”

“If you really believe that,” Tommy turned away from you again, with a scoff, “then you’re more naive than I thought you were.”

Anger spiked in your blood, but it was your guilt that stopped you from stomping to his side and forcing him to look at you, and your guilt that made you stand there in contrite pain, wishing you knew what to do other than play the last hand you had.

“I know you’re scared, Tommy,” you said gently, undeterred when he didn’t turn from the window. “I talked to someone, when I was…there. An old woman. She told me to ask you about - about a sapphire.”

Tommy turned and blinked into a look that could have made a thorn bush wither before thoughts and decisions that you weren’t privy to sped into a plan that settled a detached calm over his eyes instead, their blue growing stale before you.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“To me, you mean?” you said, something cracking in your chest. You paused as you felt the gentle ghosts of Tommy’s hands from the night before, fingers trailing up and down your spine, one at a time. The sound of your breath as you gathered your courage chased them away.

“You’re asking me -” your voice shook, but you were still surprised at how strong it sounded as you pointed at the floor, stepping closer to him, “to stay away from my family, to stay in a situation where I could be killed - murdered - for loving you, and you expect me not to -”

“Enough!”

The windows of his office shook, but this time you didn’t run in the face of Tommy’s anger, unafraid of something you understood, and you didn’t stop.

“I want you, Tommy. All of it,” your lower lip barely began to wobble with every slow step you took towards him, “Every single part. I want to help you, and I want - ”

“There’s nothing for you here.” Tommy said, voice low and even, laced with business. “And you should go.”

You may have well been slapped, not with the words but with the ease of how he said them.

“Go?” you said, eyes wide with shock.

“I’ll arrange a train ticket for you, for somewhere safe.”

Cold and distant, Tommy looked like the man you thought you’d be working for as you’d walked to that job interview so many months ago. Anger stifled for the sake of business, Tommy held his hands in front of himself and stared right back at you, bored.

He’ll tire of you.

“Go on, then. Pick a city, pick a flat. We’ll take care of it.”

With tears pricking your eyes you just shook your head again, “You’re lying.”

“I told you I’d get you a flat if-”

“Not that, and you know it.”

Tommy just stared at you, no expression gracing the angles of his face.

“Tell me that you’re lying, Tommy,” you whispered, “please.”

Hesitating, Tommy blinked at you again, this time not to react to you, but to chase away what had clouded the crystalline sharpness in his eyes. Washed from their cool blue, the feeling ran to his jaw instead, which flexed twice before he swallowed and broke his gaze from yours to flick it towards the door.

“Go on. The boys will drive you to the house and stay while you get your things together. Take whatever you want.”

“I don’t care about things, Tommy. Tell me you want me to leave,” now your voice cracked and you stepped closer to him.

Whether you knew he was lying to protect you or not didn’t matter. The cold wall that had been so easy for him to build, and so swiftly, was too much to look at, to listen to. All the memories of his hands on your skin, every rare smile and throaty laugh, and each word whispered in your ear were nothing more than headstones in a graveyard.

“I have to go,” Tommy cleared his throat and avoided your eyes as he moved past you.

“I love you,” you nearly yelled, your voice growing hoarse, “and I would choose you every day, and you know it.”

Tommy stopped in his tracks, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head before he turned to you. Pain finally apparent, Tommy lit hope in you with eyes tortured with lips parting, as if he would let something through. But then with a sharp finality it was gone, both the warmth and the hope, every movement and breath of Tommy laced with carefully practiced dismissiveness, ignoring you as if you hadn’t flung out all of yourself in offering, “The boys will leave you be when the danger’s passed. Shelby Company Limited will pay for the flat as long as you need.”

Halfway out the door, you truly thought Tommy wasn’t going to stop when you started to speak again, but he did.

“So they were right, then?” you nodded in answer to your own question as you looked at Tommy for what you hoped wouldn’t be the last time, “Lizzie, Boswell - were they all fucking right?”

“Maybe they were,” Tommy nodded, not bothering to turn and look at you before crossing the betting shop in quick strides, slamming the front door behind him.

With a cracked sob you let your tears spill over, the scuffed wood of the floor snagging your stockings as you collapsed onto it, any will to stand pulled out from under your feet. Waiting for Tommy return only gave rise to harder sobs, and each tear falling was the continuous sign of time passing as you laid there. But it was a strength that didn’t belong to you that eventually pushed you from the floor and wiped your eyes, taking you away from the shop before anyone else could arrive to see you in pieces. After your last show of strength you let the numbness take over, and it wasn’t until hours later that Ada found you in Tommy’s bed, half a bottle of gin in your veins and mascara staining your cheeks.

************

The window seat in Ada’s flat was the closest you’d get to going outside and so that was where she’d set out your coffee. Not that you could taste it, or feel the sunlight on your face.

It had been four days that you’d been staying here, almost all of your hours spent sleeping or pretending to be asleep, ignoring Ada or Pol’s gentle knocks upon the door of the spare bedroom. You’d gotten up this morning for hunger and nothing else, four days having passed before you noticed the gnawing in your stomach. It was the most promising sign of life you had left other than the beats your heart was still managing to produce, one after another.

“Up and about, I see?” Ada said cheerfully as she strolled into the sitting room, her voice genuine and not dripping in false pity that you hated. You were glad it was Ada you were staying with, for everyone else gave you sad eyes and understanding grimaces that made you feel like a funeral wreath.

Absentmindedly you nodded, watching Ada gather her purse and her chic coat. You’d been wearing the same nightclothes for four days. “I was starving,” you admitted.

“Do you want a bath?” Ada asked, coming to sit across from you, her face kind. “I can drag the tub out.”

Shaking your head you tried to look convincing, “Maybe later, I’ll get it.”

Ada smiled at you, and you blinked away to look down at your coffee. It felt rude to look at a kind face and be unable to smile back.

Tommy hadn’t come to take back his words or take you home, even if where he slept was merely a block away. It was torture, the hours passing as you lay in bed, feeling his presence as if he was laying right next to you. If you’d had the energy you would have gone out and bought a train ticket yourself just to escape it.

“He’ll come round, Y/N,” Ada said quietly, “It’s hard or him. He loves you, he’s just an idiot.”

Puffing out your cheeks, you took a sip of your coffee, finally tearing your eyes from the window to rest your temple in your hand, looking at Ada. “Still an idiot at forty-five?”

“Don’t think men ever stop being idiots, really,” Ada snorted, unfolding her feet from beneath her and poking the fire before moving towards the door. “I told Esme I’d help her at the shop today - will you be alright?”

Sounding as reassuring as you could, you nodded and picked your book back up. “I’ll be fine.”

“Call over if you need anything,” Ada said, giving you another smile before leaving the sitting room, the door clicking quietly behind her, the front door announcing her exit somewhere below.

Once she was gone you let out a rattling sigh, sniffing and trying to read your book, your eyes just moving across the words mindlessly. The next time you looked around the sun had been covered by grey clouds, a fog promising rain settling over the rooftops of Small Heath.

The front door opened and you looked at the clock, finding it far too early for Ada’s return. The one thing you had been over the past four days was alone - Ada demanding with threats and Shelby fire of her own that security were not to step through the door. But in this particular moment you couldn’t remember how suffocating they’d been, only how safe you’d felt.

Heart pounding, you thought as quickly as you could as steps climbed the stairs evenly, and you tiptoed over to the fire and grabbed the fire poker, hoping you could actually wield it.

But it was Tommy who opened the door, and your chest panged as your heart nearly came to a stop. You sucked in a breath and tried not to cry, Tommy’s angled face arching a brow at the fire poker in your hand.

“Don’t blame you,” Tommy breathed, looking around the sitting room and shutting the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” you said, watching Tommy walk around and eye Ada’s furniture, already exasperated with him even though you couldn’t possibly move to leave the room even if you’d wanted to.

Tommy stood and looked out the window, cap in his hands, held behind his back. His eyes raked the street below, lost in thought.

“Tommy-”

“The day after Grace died, all the flowers were thrown away. Don’t know if it was to ease the maids’ grief or mine, but they disappeared. All of them. I didn’t realize how many there had been. I’d never noticed, just let them blend in.

“Grace got bored with them quickly, always buying new ones, moving them around, asking me if I liked them this way or that way. I don’t know where the old ones went, probably thrown in the yard before they were even dead. I barely paid attention, I’ll admit. She’d ask me if I knew the names of them and I rarely did, and she’d laugh.”

“Our mum bought them too, when she could. Never as many, sometimes just one on its own. But there it would be, on the table until it died.” Tommy’s voice clouded with memory, and you could see the glaze over his eyes even from where you stood across the room. You barely dared to breathe, let alone cry.

“Then there weren’t any flowers in the house for a long time,” he continued, nodding solemnly, “a long time. I’d forgotten about them, I think. Until you.”

Your breath hitched as Tommy turned to look at you, his arctic gaze sad but soft, something related to a smile on his lips. But you were glad when he looked away and began to walk around Ada’s parlor again, his voice echoing as he inspected the floors and the ceiling with brotherly concern, testing the creak in one of the doors.

“You buy flowers you like, the same ones, over and over. Buy ‘em yourself, on your lunch hour or on Saturdays. Hydrangeas, they’re called, every time. Put them in the same few places. You don’t move them ‘round, you don’t talk about them - just to them, when you’re fixing them. You don’t fret over them until they start dying, and then you move them in or out of the sun, filling their water, your brows knitted a little, trying to keep them alive.

“You don’t care where you put them, or if it’s always the same ones, or if I like them or not. As long as they’re there, no matter how or where or who likes them, you’re happy.” Tommy turned away from the vent he was scrutinizing to look at you again, emotion plain on his face as he walked towards you. “You put them on my desk, for me. ‘Men need flowers, too’ you said. And I don’t think I could take the flowers going away again. Not this time.”

“They don’t have to,” you said, knees wobbling at the scent of him as he reached you, taking your hands in his, and you wished desperately it had been his skin you were touching instead of the expensive leather of his gloves. “I’m sorry that I lied Tommy, and you don’t have to tell me anything - ”

“Yes, I do. It was my fault,” Tommy continued, and you knew what he was referring to, but now that he was offering up his worst skeletons you didn’t want them, the pain in his eyes unbearable. He shook his head slowly as you opened your mouth to cut him off, “It was, Y/N. I was selfish, wanted all the wrong things. And I won’t watch it happen to you.”

“Don’t send me away, Tommy,” you whispered, gripping his coat harder, not bothering to wipe your tears, “Please.”

Tommy hesitated, smooth gloves caressing their knuckles against your flushed cheek. You flicked your gaze from one of his stunning eyes to the other, willing him to bring you home.

“Just for a little while, where it’s safer. Where you can’t -” Tommy cleared his throat, “ - where you can’t get hurt. And if you don’t want this -”

“Don’t-” you wavered out, shaking your head.

“ - If you don’t want this life, Y/N, I’ll understand. Take some time to think. Alright?”

“I don’t need to think,” you said quickly, your voice cracking, “I meant what I said, Tommy. I want you, I want all of it.”

Tommy lowered his face to yours to kiss you so gently it could have broken you in two, “I won’t - can’t - lose you. Not because of me.”

Without thinking and without words you threw your arms around Tommy’s neck and kissed him hard, trying to convey every ounce of love and willingness you had for him. You scrunched your eyes shut and held onto him, the softness of his hand cradling your head to his making you weak.

“When this is over,” Tommy broke your kiss to murmur against your lips, his Brum low and soft, “I want to tell you some things. But not now. Not like this. I need you to be alright, Y/N. Please.”

Holding your lips together and nodding, you tried your best to keep your composure, trying to accept what Tommy was telling you, trying to imagine another night without him as if the last four hadn’t been empty enough.

Reading your mind, Tommy kissed you again before pulling you his chest, “Not for long, Y/N. Until this is over, and it can be just us again,” he said. “Just us and the flowers, eh?”

More tears spilling onto your cheeks, a mix of both happy and sad in a smile that mirrored his, you managed the only words you could.

“Alright.”

Tommy just nodded, pressing one more gentle kiss to your lips, holding your chin to keep you there, not that you needed to be convinced. Breaking away, he tucked a curl behind your ear before he clenched his jaw and turned from you, walking towards the door before you could change his mind.

Although you knew it would be over soon you still couldn’t watch him leave, and you covered your mouth with your hand, turning to the window before he passed through the door. You didn’t let him hear your sobs, letting them out only when you saw him in the street below, walking slowly with his hands in his pockets, disappearing into the fog.


End file.
